


The Guardian

by Weasleychick32



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel (Supernatural)'s True Form, F/F, Fallen Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Gore, Happy Ending, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Major Character Undeath, Orphan Dean Winchester, Orphan Sam Winchester, Past Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Slow Burn, U.S. Marshall Dean, Writer Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 00:51:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 49,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14683047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weasleychick32/pseuds/Weasleychick32
Summary: A dead judge.A witness.An infallible assassin.Dean Winchester is a hunter-turned-U.S. Marshal. Basically, he gets paid to protect people from monsters, human or otherwise. He didn’t sign up for dealing with a snarky, blue-eyed pain in the ass with an apparent death wish, an assassin, or hard-headed little sisters.Well, technically he did sign up for that last one. They all did. Orphaned at Singer’s Home for Children Displaced by the Supernatural they adopted each other. Sam may be his only sibling, but as far as he's concerned, he has five. For them-Sam, Charlie, Benny, Claire, and Jo-he needs to make it out of this alive.Castiel Milton is a fallen angel in a world where the supernatural live in the open. As exciting as it sounds on paper, his life is a series of one monotonous moment after another; he writes speeches for big names with even bigger egos, has a cat that only sleeps in the sink no matter what he does to try to make her stop, and in his free time he looks for his sister who disappeared when he was a kid.When he witnesses the murder of a federal judge, his simple little life implodes. Nothing is as it once was and if he stops to catch his breath, he’s dead.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!! This is my third year participating in the acespnminibang and I'm so excited to share this story with you! This has been a brainchild of mine for years now, inspired by Dee Henderson's The Guardian and...very liberally altered into a fic of my own. Can't wait to see what you think!
> 
> A huge shout out to my artist, Cenedrariva for their beautiful artwork. It's GORGEOUS! I love it so much. Make sure you give it a reblog [http://cenedras-art.tumblr.com/post/174030154038/the-guardian-by-weasleychick32-weasleychick32](here).

****

 

**Guardian** \- _guard·i·an_

_noun_

  1. One that guards, watches over, or protects.



_An example of a guardian is an adoptive parent._

_adjective_

  1. The definition of guardian relating to watching over or protecting.



_An example of guardian as an adjective is the phrase “guardian angel,” which means an angel that watches over someone._

.

**Chapter One**

.

“Claire, you can’t just waltz in here whenever you feel like it,” Dean grumbles, but accepts the cup of coffee she’s offering him. “It’s a government facility.”

She smiles and brushes a frizzy blonde curl behind her ear from where it’s escaped the long braid running down her back. Dean rolls his eyes and perches on the edge of his desk.

Claire’s always stubbornly done as she’s pleased, ever since her first night at Singer Home way back when Dean was 16 and she was just a wee 10 year old. She was mistrustful, ornery, sneaky, and had a certain disregard for rules. In short, she was a perfect addition to their ragtag little group of parentless teens and preteens. Once they all graduated out of the orphanage they chose the last name Winchester and they adopted each other. They’re not a traditional family, but a family by choice, which if you’d ask any of them, is miles better than the other kind.

There’s six of them. Dean and Claire of course, and there’s also Sam, four years Dean’s junior. Dean and Sam are the only ones actually related by blood, although it doesn’t make much difference. Dean would kill or die for any of them.

There’s Benny, the closest to Dean’s age, and Jo the baby. And, of course, Charlie, whose name was Celeste of all things when she first arrived at the home, but she changed it along with her last name the same time they all did.

They may not have a blood connection but what they do have is much stronger. Loyalty, commitment, and faith have kept their bonds strong over the twenty some odd years since they first adopted each other. Small and fissured as their family may be, but you’d be damn hard-pressed to find a better one.

“So what brings you here?” Dean asks, holding the steaming styrofoam cup under his nose to inhale the pungent bitter smell of liquid heaven. “I know you’re good at what you do, but I don’t think you have a big-brother’s-coffee-maker-finally-went-caput sense.”

“Nope,” Claire responds, hopping up onto Victor’s, Dean’s partner’s, desk. “Not yet anyway,” she adds with a smirk.

“Always room to improve, even if you are the most sought-after teen counselor in the country,” Dean says, hiding his proud smile behind his cup as he takes a sip.

“Trauma psychologist,” Claire corrects automatically. Dean always gets it wrong.

“Blech,” Dean says and pulls the cup away from his face to frown down into its contents. “What is this crap? Are you trying to bump me off?”

Claire snorts and rolls her eyes.

“It’s just light roast, Dean, you big baby. With all the coffee you drink I’m surprised it’s not running through your veins. The least you could do is cut back on the dark stuff.”

“Ugh. You _are_ trying to poison me.”

“Baby.”

“ _Brat_.”

“Children, children. Behave.”

Victor enters the room, arms loaded down with a five-inch binder vomiting white printed pages and drops it unceremoniously on the empty patch of desk next to Dean’s hip.

“Hey Vicky,” Claire greets cheerily.

“The fuck is this?” Dean asks, flicking the thing open with his index finger. He groans.

“That,” Victor begins as he collapses into the padded chair behind his desk, still occupied by Claire, and swivels to face Dean with an expression of one doomed to the guillotine, “is the guest list.”

Dean groans again and pushes the binder to the edge of the desk using only the very tip of his finger.

“Everyone attending had to submit to a full background check, obviously, and that there is the end result. We get to go through it and determine potential threats,” Victor explains, his thoughts on the assignment made clear by his dry tone and distasteful glance at the object of contempt.

Tonight is the biggest judicial conference of the year and since there’s an opening on the Supreme Court and a list of candidates floating around, security has to be extra tight. It’s a pretty big deal, just... not to Dean, who couldn’t give half a damn about politics.

“Why did I ever think it would be a good idea to give up hunting to be a U.S. Marshal of all things?” Dean asks the ceiling.

“A misplaced sense of patriotism?” Victor guesses wryly.

Dean snorts. “No that definitely wasn’t it.”

“You thought it’d be more chaps and spurs and less suits and ties. Also, you get paid for it,” Claire answers nonchalantly.

“Oh right. I can’t believe I was so wrong.”

“I can,” Claire and Victor chorus.

“Okay, that’s it. Claire, it’s time for you to scram. Apparently, I have a shit ton of work to do and I don’t need you two ganging up on me,” Dean orders, pointing a calloused finger between the both of them. Claire grins, unrepentant, and hops down from Victor’s desk.

Victor clicks his tongue. “Now I’ll have to disinfect it again.”

“Love you too, Vicky. Walk me out, brother dear?” Claire asks, fluttering her eyelashes unnecessarily at Dean.

“Sure,” Dean agrees with enthusiasm. He pours the last of his coffee down his throat and tosses the empty cup into the trash beside his desk. “Need me to take you anywhere else? To get your hair done? To a job? Canada?”

“You’ve got 10 minutes, Winchester,” Victor tells him calmly without looking up from the report he just scooped from his inbox.

Dean pouts, but Victor still doesn’t even bother to look before he’s shaking his head.

“Doesn’t work on me. Ten minutes.”

Dean and Claire catch each other up on their respective lives as they make their way through uncomplicated hallways. Turns out Claire is in Washington D.C. for the next few days for a meeting with the Red Cross. She lives in Chicago in a fancy little apartment downtown that she never sees because she’s always traveling for her job. Apparently, being the most in-demand teen trauma psychologist in the U.S. means you get to fly all over the country chasing down the latest disaster and soothing away the troubles of its victims. Or some shit like that. Dean wouldn’t exactly know.

“You been by to visit Sammy yet?” Dean asks. Claire shakes her head.

“Nope. You were stop numero uno. How’s he doing since the big move? I know D.C.’s no Palo Alto.”

“He’s alright. More quiet than I’d like, but you know.”

Claire nods, quiet.

Sam has had a rough few years since his girlfriend Jess was murdered on her way home from a shift at the cafe she worked at between classes. They’d been dating for a few years through college and Sam was a week off from proposing when a random mugging went wrong and Jess took a bullet to the chest.

A brand new start with a kinda new career in a completely new place seemed like the best option for Sam. Also, he’s in the same city as Dean for the first time since Dean went away to college (he only applied because Jo blackmailed him) so there’s that too. Dean would never say it in as many words, but he’s missed his brother. Like a lot. Close as their little family may be, they don’t really see much of each other. They’re usually scattered across the country with their various careers: a U.S. Marshal, a lawyer, a trauma psychologist, an EMT, a firefighter, and a forensic technician/hacker on the side. It’s quite the list and Dean is damn proud.

“So why are you really here?” Dean asks when they reach the foyer. He finds a nice empty stretch of wall and leans his shoulder into it with his arms crossed over his chest and his big brother tell-me-everything-I-want-to-know look fixed in place. Claire just smiles.

“I was in town and wanted to see you.”

“Uh huh. Not buying it,” Dean says and continues to wait. Claire pulls a face and then turns away slightly and lets out a puff of air.

“Alright,” she says, turning back to face him and finally putting on her serious face. “I just wanted to check on you. Make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” Dean says before he can stop himself. Claire shoots him a pointed look and Dean suppresses his grimace. He should really have learned by now that when he tells Claire he’s fine, she hears, ‘ _I’m a mess and the nightmares are back and I’m barely keeping my head above the water here but I’m too proud to let anyone know_ ’. Which is all true of course, but Dean doesn’t want _her_ to know that.

“I thought so,” is all she says. “I’ll extend my trip for an extra few weeks.”

Dean groans and pushes off the wall as Claire turns and strides towards the exit.

“Wait. Claire!”

“It’s already done,” she calls over her shoulder. “See you tomorrow for dinner. Flake on me and I’ll egg Baby. Again.”

“That’s playing dirty!”

She laughs and pushes through the glass door, only turning around to stick her tongue out at him once it’s closed behind her. Brat. He’s gonna have to go grocery shopping.

.

**~*~**

.

Just as Dean anticipated, the conference is boring as fuck. He somehow drew the short stick and is stuck standing behind and just to the left of the podium where he is in perfect view of the entire room. Not a big deal except that means he can’t mock the endless politicians giving endless speeches that he endlessly _doesn’t want to hear_. You would think with the number and variety of supernatural beings in the room that there wouldn’t be space for boredom. You’d be wrong.

There are over twenty individuals who have the potential to act on past wrongs they’ve been handed by the judges in attendance tonight, and of those 20+ at least half are supernatural. It’s Dean’s job to make sure that they don’t get the chance. Or, on the off chance that they do get the opportunity, to stop them before they succeed. It sounds a lot cooler than it is, really.

Hours later, Dean is exhausted and really fucking sick of the stupid suit they made him wear. He should be used to them by now but no monkey suit could ever compare to a well-worn pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and an old flannel. Victor, the asshole, wears suits like they’re his second skin.

As soon as he’s out of the main room and into the security hallway Dean rips the tie away from his throat and unbuttons the top fasteners of his dress shirt. Then, off goes the jacket and the sleeves get rolled up to his elbows. Victor rolls his eyes at the relieved sigh that Dean releases but doesn’t bother to comment. He’s had the past seven years to get used to his partner’s unorthodox ways and the past three to accept that he’ll likely never change.

“So, where to next? Please say food.”

Victor shoots Dean a half-hearted look, but the truth is that he’s starving too. Having to stand around and watch while the conference guests chowed down on their seven-course meal was pure torture.

“We get to watch the guest security feed,” Victor announces. Dean groans, but it’s cut short by the sudden opening of the door they just recently exited the main hallway through. A man with broad shoulders, a mop of dark wild hair, incredibly blue eyes, and a deep scowl steps halfway through the doorway, but then stops abruptly when he catches sight of Dean and Victor.

In Dean’s mind’s eye, he whirls through the binder of background checks until he finds the page on this man. Casteel? Cassiel? Cas… Cas… Just Cas then. Milton. A speechwriter for one of the supreme court nominees, adopted into the Milton family at age 16 and quickly made his way into his current position after getting recognized on a blogging platform. Human.

Dean watches as the man’s eyes flicker first to Dean’s exposed firearm in the holster under his arm and then briefly to Victor and then back to Dean-specifically, and interestingly, to the open collar and the lightly freckled skin of Dean’s throat. The man swallows and looks up at the ceiling briefly before focusing back on Dean and Victor collectively.

“I apologize. I’m looking for my brother. He seems to have exited the main room and he has a certain affinity for making trouble,” Cas says, his shoulders and back painfully stiff. Dean’s eyebrows lift to his forehead.

“What kind of trouble?” Victor demands, all alpha male and implicitly threatening.

“Not the kind that requires lethal force, I assure you,” Cas says so stiffly that his lips barely move, but his eyes dart meaningly to where Victor’s sidearm rests under his jacket. “Just an ungodly amount,” a giggle interrupts him from somewhere behind him out in the hall and Cas closes his eyes and tips his head back up to the ceiling, “of patience,” he finishes. Another voice loudly shushes the giggle and then giggles as well.

“Excuse me,” Cas says and then turns and walks away before Dean and Victor can so much as exchange looks. Dean hurries after the man. Cas finds the door labeled ‘Supply Closet’ and yanks it open and two men spill out into a graceless, giggling heap. Cas’s lips thin and he aims a look of pure disgust at one of the men before turning to the other who’s tugging at his pant leg.

“Cassie. Hehe. Hey, Cassie,” the man twitters drunkenly. “Guess who I found?”

“The man who shamelessly used you over the course of five years and then left you penniless on the streets as soon as a fish with a fatter wallet came along. Just a guess,” Cas spits as he helps his brother-Gabriel Milton, Dean remembers, also human-to his feet. Dean winces, but can’t help but throw a grin at Victor. It’s like watching a soap opera. Waaaay better than the security feed. Victor frowns disapprovingly, but Dean can tell that he’s at least a little bit amused.

“A pleasure to see you again as well,” the man still on the floor says bitingly from where he’s now reclined back against the wall.

“Matthew,” Cas snaps the pseudo greeting without turning to even face him.

“You’re always such a downer, Cassie,” Gabriel complains like a three-year-old as Cas begins to lead him back towards the conference room that he just came from.

“It’s an ability I was born with and have since embraced and honed to perfection,” Cas replies without missing a beat. Dean stifles a snort and Victor shoots him a look. Dean rolls his eyes. Spoilsport.

“Need a hand?” Dean offers with a flirtatious grin which goes completely to waste when Cas doesn’t even turn to acknowledge him.

“No,” he says.

Dean blinks and Cas leads his brother away without a backward glance at them, which you know, _rude_ , but whatever. Dean’s not gonna lie, the guy is super good looking. _Suuuper_ good looking, but the whole stick in the mud factor kinda tanks his chances of getting him into bed… or a supply closet or anywhere else really. Besides, Dean has work to do and a no dick policy. Well... not a literal no dick policy. Dean doesn’t like _dicks_ , as in assholes... as in _jerks_ , but he does like dick. And boobs.

Victor draws Dean from his internal journey of self-discovery with a slap to the back of his head.

“Stop imagining yourself having sex with that man.”

“Ow! I wasn’t!”

Victor gives him a no-nonsense look that Dean is very well acquainted with, having been on the receiving end of it for at least a decade now. It effectively says ‘ _cut the bullshit_ ’ without Victor having to say a word.

“That was your gonna-get-some face. It’s been _seven years_. I know your gonna-get-some face.”

“Right, but that doesn’t mean I was thinking about getting it on with that guy. He’s got a stick so far up his ass that he wouldn’t even be able to do any of the fun stuff.”

Victor just shakes his head and orders him to leave his sexual fantasies for a time when they aren’t sharing a hotel room and get back to work. He and Victor get the Matthew guy (Matthew Richards, siren) sorted out and in a cab and then trudge off to watch guests leave through tiny screens in a tiny closet of a room. Yay.

.

**~*~**

.

A small eternity later, that in reality was only a few hours, Dean and Victor are back in the main security room. The guests who are not staying in the hotel have all safely left and that leaves Dean and Victor a few minutes to unwind before they are assigned their next task. Or Dean takes the time to unwind, sprawling back in an abandoned desk chair. Victor is already off sniffing around for something else that needs to be done. Kiss up.

“Bad news, Winchester.”

Dean half-heartedly glares at his partner who dares to cut short their break time, but Victor is striding purposefully towards Dean and is clearly ready for some action.

“Did Justice Roosevelt antagonize a waitress again?”

Victor snorts.

“If only it were that simple. No, Washington called. Judge Crowley has been added to the shortlist.”

Dean scowls and finally sits up from his reclined position.

“Are you fucking serious? Crowley? A _demon_ on the Supreme Court? And they couldn’t have given us a heads up maybe _before_ the guy was standing giving a speech in front of a couple hundred people? They’re lucky it didn’t leak then. Someone is going to get killed if they don’t figure out that we need to know these things before the general public does.”

“I hear you,” Victor agrees, looking no less frustrated. “We need to move him to the secure floor.”

“Is there even an open room up there?”

“The East Suite.”

“Lucky dog,” Dean says, reluctantly getting to his feet and following his partner into the elevator bank just outside the room. “Where are we headed?”

“Room 961.”

Dean hits the button for the 9th floor.

.

**Castiel**

.

Castiel Milton is not, by nature, prone to pacing, but the governor of the Commonwealth of Virginia, his boss, called to give him a heads up that Crowley is getting placed on the short list to possibly become the new Supreme Court Justice. Seeing as Castiel is Crowley’s speechwriter, this is a huge deal. It has the potential to be the biggest break of his career and if it all goes well then maybe, _maybe_ , Castiel can get himself out from under Crowley’s thumb and actually write about things he _enjoys_.

Castiel takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. He’s getting ahead of himself. It’s just the short list. There is no guarantee that Crowley will be picked out of all the judges and, career prosperity aside, Castiel knows that Crowley would not be a good choice. He’s got too many important people in his pocket and justice is not the motivator in his career. This is truly the main reasoning for Castiel’s pacing.

He knows Crowley’s a demon. A literal _demon_. He doesn’t want to work for him, he never has, but he and Crowley made a deal. Castiel knew the parameters going into the deal, but he never thought it would go this far or have gone on this long. He thought he’d be out by now, but he’s just been getting more and more stuck in the muck the longer he’s been working for Crowley.

His hands are dirty. As Crowley’s speechwriter, he has, through Crowley’s mouth, talked to and convinced people to do the most unethical things. He has sent innocent people to jail and he has released the guilty back into the world. He is just as dirty as Crowley himself. And yet, Castiel will not regret a single moment of it if he can find her…

“Cassie!”

Gabriel bursts through the door to the hotel room, causing the door to slam into the wall before swinging back into its frame and sealing shut. Castiel swings around to glare at his brother.

“Sit down,” he orders, waving an impatient hand at the loveseat as he paces past it. It’s nicer than the one in his own living room.

“What’s got your panties all in a bunch?” Gabriel pouts as he drops onto the sofa and sprawls across it in a way only someone who is highly intoxicated can make look comfortable. “Oh, is it because I tried to fuck Matthew again?”

Castiel glares and continues to pace. With the connecting door to Crowley’s room on his right and Gabriel and the loveseat on his left, it takes ten steps to get to the edge of the TV stand. He turns on his heel, takes ten steps back to the edge of the bed and repeats.

“I don’t understand why you would ever do that to yourself considering how he wrecked you the first time around, but no. That’s not what this is about. Crowley has been added to the short list.”

Gabriel squints at him for a moment, but then the realization seems to sink in and with it, a touch of sobriety. He moves into a sitting position, slightly hunched forward with his feet on the floor and his hands clasped in his lap. It’s always surprising to Castiel when Gabriel becomes serious because it so rarely happens.

“And now you’re in a moral tailspin,” he says.

Castiel expels a hard breath and doesn’t disagree. Gabriel, out of everyone on the planet, knows him best. He knows about Castiel’s deal with Crowley and he knows about Castiel’s misgivings and what the deal entails. He’s been telling Castiel for years to end it while he can still live with himself, but he’s never been able to go through with it. Not while he knows his sister is still out there somewhere. Gabriel knows about that too.

“End the deal,” Gabriel advises.

Castiel continues to pace: to the bed, then to the TV, and then back to the bed. On his trip towards the television, he stops in front of his brother and drags a hand back through his hair while the other perches on his hip.

“Okay,” he says.

Gabriel blinks at him and then leans back.

“Okay?” he parrots.

Castiel nods, gaining more certainty in his decision by the second.

“I’m going to resign and end my deal with Crowley,” he declares. The relief that sweeps over him is almost overwhelming. It’s been weighing on him for far too long and it’s time to let go. Not of the search, of course, but this route obviously isn’t working and it’s time to try something else. Castiel smiles at Gabriel’s gobsmacked expression and in the same moment he hears the main door click open next door in Crowley’s room.

“There he is,” Castiel says and wipes his hands down the fronts of his pants. “I’m going to tell him now. You’re here as my witness in case he tries to murder me, okay?”

He tries to make it a joke, but his smile slips and falls into a nervous grimace. Crowley’s a _demon_. Gabriel returns the look. They both know Crowley runs in some unsavory circles and lacks a moral compass, but he’s never been outright violent. Not he when he can manipulate you to his will without force.

Castiel takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and raises his hand to knock.

“I’m proud of you, Cassie,” Gabriel blurts out behind him. Castiel turns and smiles at his brother over his shoulder and then brings his hand down on the door. It must not have latched all the way earlier because it falls open under his hand.

He catches sight of Crowley standing only a few steps inside the room facing the back of the room towards the bed, a look of pure shock on his face.

An ear-splitting bang makes Castiel jump. He can only watch in numb disbelief as red wells up in a single spot on Crowley’s chest and yellow lightning flashes under his skin. Then he falls to the ground with a dull thud. Castiel stares, unable to understand what’s happened until there’s another loud bang, a gunshot he realizes, and the wood of the doorframe he’s standing in splinters.

He’s being shot at! Numb, he turns to look instead of running or dropping to the ground like his instincts are screaming at him. His eyes connect with cold blue eyes and the barrel of a gun.

He won’t be able to move in time, he knows it. Instead of closing his eyes, he keeps his gaze locked on the woman who has already murdered a demon in cold blood right in front of him. He expects to feel metal tear through his flesh. He expects to be pitched backward into the room by the force of the bullets.

What he doesn’t expect is a large mass to hurl all at once into his right side in the same instant that the gun cracks.

He falls hard. The edge of the TV stand bites into his temple and suddenly all Castiel can see is blood. He blinks several times and the room seems to swim before him, fuzzy black spots dancing about. His ears are ringing loudly, but he gets the impression that it’s very quiet. Much too quiet for when Gabriel is near.

_Gabriel_.

Castiel sucks in a deep breath and forces himself not to lose consciousness. _Gabriel_. His legs are heavy. So heavy that he wonders if maybe his concussion is worse than he’s hoping, but then he blinks again and sees that his legs are heavy because Gabriel is lying across them. His eyes meet his brother’s and his heart stutters in his chest. There’s blood everywhere-too much for just one head wound. There’s a big weeping hole in Gabriel’s shirt. Blood slips easily from the tear and is quickly soaking his shirt and dripping to the carpet.

“Gabriel,” he tries to say, but his tongue is thick in his mouth and his throat is tight. Gabe’s gaze flicks to the other room and Castiel’s follows. He’s met with only a small measure of relief when he sees the room is empty. A strange cold look passes over Gabriel’s face and adrenaline jolts through Castiel, late but with force, clearing his head enough that he springs into action.

“Don’t move,” he orders, forcing Gabriel down just as he seems to be trying to sit up. He whips off his dress shirt and presses the wadded fabric to the bullet wound. “It’s going to be okay.”

Gabriel goes still and searches Castiel’s eyes, looking oddly calm, if furious. Something in his expression closes off right before he sits up, easily without effort, despite Castiel trying to push him back down.

“What-?”

Gabriel brushes Castiel’s hands off of him and lifts his fingers. With a simple snap, jagged metal shards wiggle their way out of the torn flesh of his shoulder and drop silently to the plush carpet. Castiel blinks down at them and by the time he looks back up, the skin of Gabriel’s shoulder is whole and clean, the only sign that a bullet had blasted through it his torn blood-soaked shirt and the shattered bullet on the floor.

Castiel sits back on his heels and stares at the patch of perfect skin, his mind nothing but static. He knows what this means. That doesn’t mean he’s ready to accept it.

“I’ll explain.” Castiel sluggishly forces himself to raise his gaze to meet the wild look in Gabriel’s eyes. “I promise. Stay here and lock the door. I’ll be back.”

Gabriel gets to his feet and sprints out the door, hesitating before wrenching it open and letting it slam behind him. Castiel doesn’t try and stop him. He doesn’t turn to watch him go. He stares blankly forward until the relentlessly practical part of his brain reminds him that he just witnessed a murder, demon or no.

Mindful of the way the room lurches as he gets to his feet, he shuffles over to the landline on the nightstand and dials 911, leaving bloody smears on the keypad. There’s a funny feeling in his stomach as he stares at them. Horror and revulsion because that’s his brother’s blood. It’s _Gabe’s_.

He can’t get the image of his perfectly healed flesh out of his head-rejecting the bullet fragments and then him running off like nothing was wrong. Like his world wasn’t fundamentally altered from what it was this morning. For him, for Gabe, it probably wasn’t. That’s the most bitter pill to swallow.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

His tongue feels thick in his mouth and he can’t seem to get his thoughts together. What is the most important thing the lady on the phone needs to know?

“Someone shot Crowley… I think he’s dead.”

That’s a scary thought on its own. It’s common knowledge that demons can be exorcised from their vessels, but he’s never heard of one being killed before. And yet…

He recalls the lightning flashing under his skin and the shock on his face right before the bullet sank into his flesh in a spray of blood-the sound, the solid thud of his body collapsing to the ground. No smoke.

“Sir, are you still there?”

“Yes.” The room tilts and he sits down on the bed heavily. His eyes feel like a magnet is pulling them to center on his nose and the light hurts his head. He tries to remember if he packed painkillers.

“Can you tell me your location, sir?”

He gives her the name of the hotel and their room number.

“Are you hurt?”

“I…” He stares at the blood sticking to his hands, drying under his fingernails. “I hit my head. There’s blood and it hurts.”

“Is anyone with you?”

“No.” He swallows thickly, his saliva sour. “My brother was here, but he went after her.”

There’s a pause on the other line. “Went after who?”

“The shooter.”

“You saw the shooter?”

Castiel takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Her cold pale eyes burn on the insides of his eyelids.

“Yes.”


	2. Chapter 2

“This Crowley dude seems like a jackass,” Dean comments idly as they wait for the elevator. He’s going through the judge’s threat file on their way up to move him to the secure floor and he can’t help but notice that the thing is extensive. Like  _ encyclopedia _ huge.

“You only say that because he’s a demon,” Victor says, flippant. He waits for Dean to open his mouth, retort hot on his tongue, before he continues. “But I haven’t heard good things.” Dean scowls at him as the elevator dings and the doors slide open. “I’m surprised he was picked honestly.”

“It’s because he’s got a finger in everybody’s pot,” calls a voice behind them.

Dean and Victor turn and Dean smiles when he sees his future sister-in-law jogging towards them.

“Hey you,” Dean greets, lifting his hand to ruffle Dorothy’s hair only to have it swatted away before ever making contact. Dorothy glares at him as they all enter the elevator. It must say something about him that she doesn’t even try to reprimand him for it anymore. He figures she’ll need all the practice with patience that she can get if she’s going to tie herself down to Charlie for the rest of her life. As much as Dean loves his little sister, he’ll be the first to admit that the girl is a handful.

“I thought you were done for the night?” Dean asks and hits the nine on the panel. The doors slide shut.

Dorothy shrugs.

“I was, but then Charlie called and said she’d be working late and I didn’t really feel like going home to an empty house, you know?”

Oh, Dean knows. That’s his everyday reality and he hates it. After always sharing space in the group home, then in a college dorm, and then with Benny, Charlie, Claire, and Jo after college until they got their feet under them, he doesn’t know how to have his own space. He comes home and everything is exactly where he left it. No one messed with his records. No one left dishes in the sink. No one spilled milk on the counter and didn’t bother to wipe it up. It’s lonely and it sucks and he  _ hates _ it.

Dean hums noncommittally and counts himself lucky that the subject is dropped.

“You gonna help us move Crowley?” Dean asks as he watches the lighted numbers rise steadily. Three… Four… Five…

Dorothy snorts.

“Hell no. I’ve heard he’s a total nightmare. No, I’m here to be entertained,” she says with a wide grin.

Dean rolls his eyes but lets a small smile play his lips. Charlie couldn’t have found a better match if she’d designed one herself-not that Charlie really found Dorothy. Dean totally hooked them up. After the first time he met the new Marshal and saw what a spitfire she was he knew her and Charlie would get on great. Now he kind of regrets it because they get along  _ too _ well.

They’re traveling up past floor 7 when all three of the Marshal’s earpieces come to life simultaneously.

“ _ Gunshots fired in room 963. Judge unconfirmed dead and one injured. Gunman on the loose. Repeat. Gunman on the loose. _ ”

Dean, Victor, and Dorothy slam their backs to the side walls of the elevator and ready their weapons as the elevator slows and prepares to open its doors on the 9th floor and potentially right in the path of a fleeing shooter. Victor rapidly relays their position through the comlink. 

With an unassuming ding, the elevator doors slide open. Dean slowly releases a breath and takes point. He comes around the bit of wall the elevator affords him as cover and aims his gun into an empty hallway. He breathes a sigh of relief and motions for Victor and Dorothy to follow. They make it all the way to aforementioned room without coming across a single soul. Victor motions that he’ll continue on down the hall in search of the shooter and then soundlessly creeps across the carpet, searching for clues.

Dean reaches the door to room 963 and pounds his fist on it.

“Federal Marshals,” he calls through the thick wood. It’s way nicer than any of the motels he’s stayed in throughout his career. You’d think a government position would afford you nicer digs, but according to the higher-ups they’re on a budget. He’s not fool enough to think him being a former hunter doesn’t have anything to do with it.

“One moment,” he hears called back through the door. A few seconds later the door is whipped open and Dean has to blink twice. It’s Cas, from earlier. Only instead of the nice suit, he’s down to his slacks and a bloodstained undershirt. He’s got dried blood coating the left side of his face and trailing down his neck and into the collar of his shirt, but the majority of blood on his shirt and coating his hands doesn’t seem to be coming from him.

Dean’s surprise only lasts an instant before he’s back in work mode and sweeping into the room while Dorothy does a perimeter check in this room the next room over. Strange that the connecting door would be open.

“My brother,” Cas chokes and Dean latches onto the way his voice is faint and nothing like it was earlier. He takes a closer look and sees Cas’s eyes are wide and just slightly unfocused like he might have a concussion.

“Cas, buddy how about you take a seat,” Dean suggests, but Cas is already shaking his head, wincing when the rapid motion doesn’t take too well to his injury.

“Gabriel is- He went after her,” Cas explains.

Dean’s blood goes cold and in the same instant Dorothy says, “Crowley is dead,” quietly through the comlink.

Dean frowns deeply and looks past Cas to the connected room where he can just make out a pair of well-polished shoes sticking out the ends of black slacks. Crowley, a demon, is dead? It can’t be.

“He went after who?”

“The room is clear,” Dorothy states, striding back into the main room. “Next door is clear as well. Did you get a clear look at the shooter?” Her gaze slides over Cas, carefully impassive. He takes a deep steadying breath and turns to Dorothy.

“Yes,” he says and swallows thickly.

“Did Gabe?” Dean asks.

Cas frowns and looks from the connecting door to the small sofa and shakes his head. “I don’t think so. The angle is wrong. He just heard the shots.”

“Can you give me a description?” Dorothy asks sharply and glances at Dean, both of them solemn. Castiel is the only witness to a federal crime and his life is about to drastically change for the foreseeable future and he doesn’t even know it yet. Castiel screws up his face as he tries to recall details. In the end, he gives them more than they could have hoped. He got a good look. Unfortunately, that doesn’t bode well for him.

“It was a woman. Umm, short blonde hair, light-colored eyes, maybe blue, slim build. Uh shorter than me. Maybe between 5’7” and 5’10”. She was wearing a black dress, the layered kind with the thin see-through top layer. Flowy. It cut off at her knees. And heels. Black with closed toes. That’s all… That’s all I remember.”

Something clicks in Dean’s head. “Gabriel went after her?”

Cas nods, looking stony, and Dorothy curses under her breath and relays that there’s a civilian out there to Victor.

“He’ll be okay,” Cas says, not looking sure. “He’s… I don’t think he’s human.”

Dean shoots him an incredulous look. “How can you not be sure? What makes you think he’s not?”

Cas pulls a face. “She shot him in the shoulder. He healed it. Snapped his fingers and it was like it never happened.”

“Is he dangerous?” Dean demands.

Cas narrows his eyes and suddenly looks more lucid than he has since Dean walked into the room. “No.”

“How can you be sure?” Dean asks. “It sounds like up until today you thought he was human.”

“He saved me,” Cas snaps. “She was aiming for me and he pushed me out of the way. He saved my life.”

Dean snorts. “No biggie when he can just heal himself up with a snap of his fingers though, is it? And I can’t help but notice he didn’t bother to heal you. Or maybe he doesn’t have the mojo.”

Cas takes a big blustering breath, only for the fight drain out of him in a gust of air. He rubs his temples with his fingertips. He winces and pulls bloodied fingers away from the cut on his head. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

Dorothy shifts impatiently and clears her throat, shooting a warning look Dean’s way. “Can you tell me how many shots she fired? Maybe what her weapon looked like?”

Cas frowns. “Three shots. I’m sure. Umm, it was a handgun- No, two handguns. One was kind of old-fashioned looking-long nose and silver.” Dean goes still. “The other one was like yours,” Cas says, gesturing to Dorothy’s solid black Glock.

Dorothy nods and repeats everything back over the comlink to Victor and everyone else now in on the search while Dean stares hard at the side of Cas’s head, as though trying to extract more information about the silver gun by telepathy. When she’s done, she looks back at Dean and he meets her gaze with a nod.

“Be careful. You and Vic watch each other’s backs,” he tells her unnecessarily. She nods anyway.

“Get him taken care of,” Dorothy says. “Looks like he could use a doctor.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We’ll meet up at HQ,” she confirms. Dean nods and watches her as she exits the room, her voice joining the muted jumble of voices filtering through his earpiece as his peers organize a manhunt (womanhunt?). Meanwhile, he’s on babysitting duty.

He turns back to Cas. The man is visibly exhausted, has a killer goose egg on the side of his forehead, and is covered in blood-both his own and his not-human brother’s... and for some reason, he doesn’t seem to be very happy at being left alone with Dean.

“Alright, let’s get you a change of clothes and then we can head to the hospital.”

“I don’t want to go to the hospital,” Cas says, frowning at the door.

“Uh, tough? You have a head injury, dude. You keep going cross-eyed whenever you lose your concentration. You’re gonna see a doctor.”

“My brother is out there chasing a murderer,” Cas says, voice flat.

“Your brother isn’t human. He-,”

“What difference does that make?” Cas demands sharply. His hands ball into fists and he aims a sizzling glare directly at Dean.  _ Castiel _ , Dean suddenly remembers. His full name is Castiel.

“The difference is life and death,” Dean says evenly. “You think I’m some prejudiced asshole, don’t you? My brother’s a vampire and I love him just the same as I do my other brother, the nerdy  _ human _ lawyer. The difference is, Gabriel can heal himself with a snap of his fingers. He’ll be  _ fine _ .”

Cas levels a finger at the room next door and Dean’s stomach drops. “There’s a dead demon next door and my brother is chasing the killer. _Don’t tell me_ _he’ll be fine._ Not unless you’ve heard of some,” Cas’s hand waffles through the air as he searches for words, “ _demon-killing gun_ , we don’t know what we’re dealing with or what she can do.”

Dean holds Cas’s gaze with a hard steady stare of his own, but he keeps his mouth shut. The thing is, he has heard of a demon killing gun before, a gun that can kill anything. But it’s a myth, a fairytale, and his dad died chasing it.

Dean shakes his head. “Your brother made his choice and there’s nothing I can do about it. My job is to get you taken care of. If you can prove you’re fine then we’ll skip the hospital, but I don’t think you can.”

Cas clenches his jaw and tips his chin up to the ceiling. “Fine.”

In the end, Cas only makes it two steps walking heel to toe before he wobbles and falls. Dean catches him under the arms before he hits the ground, but it only serves to make Cas angrier.

“Let go!” He pushes himself out of Dean’s hands and catches his balance on the footboard, but stalking off towards the small alcove that holds a closet and the bathroom.

“Where are you going?”

“To wash off some of this blood before I go to the hospital, or do you have an opinion about that as well?”

Dean cringes on the inside. “This is a crime scene, man. We can’t mess with anything.” Cas’s expression goes blank. “The best I can do is let you grab a change of clothes, some toiletries, and your cell phone. Everything else stays.”

Cas looks around the room in disbelief, speechless.

Dean presses on. “We can get you cleaned up in an empty room. I have a master key.”

Cas’s shoulders slump and he pinches the bridge of his nose hard before wordlessly walking back to the beds where he extracts a worn and tattered blue duffel from under the bed and begins digging through it for clothes.

It’s surprising, Dean thinks faintly. He would have expected the shiny, black hardtop suitcase to belong to Cas.

Gunfire and the sound of a body hitting concrete clatters over the comlink.

“ _ Shooter on the stairs! She’s heading up! _ ”

Dean flinches. “Victor?” he barks, ice flooding his veins.

“ _ She winged me. I’m alright _ ,” Victor gasps over the link. “ _ You guys coming down from nineteen try not to shoot me by mistake _ .”

“Dorothy?” Dean calls.

“ _ I’ve got his back _ ,” she assures and then they’re lost in the rest of the group’s chatter. Dean tunes it out and refocuses on the man in his care. He’s carefully holding a wad of fabric, clearly trying to keep blood from getting on them. It helps that the blood on his hands is dry by now.

“Let’s get out of here,” Dean says gently, jerking his head towards the door. Cas looks up at Dean, away from his hands as he continues awkwardly hold his bundle in front of him. His eyes are wide, sad, and heartbreaking to look at.

“Don’t forget your toothbrush and stuff. You’ll want it at some point.”

Cas barely glances at him before nodding and grabbing a plastic ziplock holding a toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant before turning for the door, leaving Dean to trail after. As Dean is using his master key card to open up an empty room a few doors down Victor comes over the comlink again, swearing now.

“ _ The shooter got out of the stairway. Repeat, the shooter is no longer in the stairwell. She’s loose somewhere between floors twelve and fifteen _ .”

Dean clenches his jaw. He hates that he’s not there.  _ Hates _ it. He’s here feeling useless while the people he’s supposed to be protecting are in danger is worse than not having pie on Pi Day-which is a goddamn tragedy if you ask him.

He shoves away the frustration and lets the voices over the comm wash over him as he turns the majority of his attention back to Cas. Dean motions for him to wait in the hall and then ducks into the room and does a quick security sweep. Better safe than sorry.

“Alright, we’re clear,” Dean calls out to him. “Go ahead and wash up and change your clothes. Take as long as you need and then when you’re ready we’ll get you over to the hospital and maybe by then we’ll have heard something about your brother.”

Cas enters the room almost robotically and follows Dean to the bathroom where he sets the clothing pile on top of the closed toilet.

“He’s going to be okay,” Dean says quietly, cupping Cas’s elbow and giving it a squeeze. “You’ve got my word on that.”

Cas studies him for a long moment without responding, eyes wide and solemn, at odds with his dark hair sticking up every which way. Finally, he nods.

“Okay,” he says, not looking away from Dean’s gaze. Dean gives his elbow one more squeeze before stepping back out of Cas’s personal space.

“If you need something, yell. I’ll be right outside,” he says. “Don’t try and shower. Just wash up in the sink. I don’t need you falling and hitting your head again.” Cas blinks and then nods again before turning to the sink and using his forearm to lift the lever and start the water. Dean shuts the door behind him after he steps out and starts to pace.

They’ve got a dead judge, a shooter on the loose, and a concussed witness. What Dean would give to go back to 30 minutes ago when his biggest concern was how boring watching the security feed was. While he waits, he lets his mind wander back to when it was just him and Sam, a sad version of their dad, and the legend of The Colt. 

.

**Castiel**

.

It won’t come off. No matter how hard he scrubs, or how furiously he rubs the soap bar, the blood won’t come off.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until warm steady hands wrap around his and gently redirect them under the running water, rubbing firm circles across his stained flesh until the water runs clean.

“Thank you,” Castiel says softly as he is handed a towel. The U.S. Marshall says nothing, only nods and steps out of the room to allow Cas to get himself together in private. Idly, he wonders how often the green-eyed man has had victims- _ people _ -fall apart on him to be able to handle it so gracefully, but he shuts that thought down quickly because even in his addled state he can sense that he’s teetering on the edge of a rabbit hole and too many thoughts of victims, bloodshed, and brothers who aren’t who they say they are will send him careening over the edge. If that happens, there’s no way he’ll get out of an overnight hospital stay.

He takes a deep breath and ignores the ringing in his ears as he exits the bathroom, taking carefully measured steps to keep the way the room tilts to himself. He leaves his bloodied clothes in a heap on the toilet.

“Ready?”

Castiel blinks and finds the Marshall closer than he’d expected, leaning against the doorframe of the closet opposite the bathroom. The man has freckles. They’re adorable.

“Yes,” Castiel answers, blinking away the freckles from his vision. How long was he staring at them? Long enough for the Marshall to develop a sly grin, apparently.

“Let’s get out of here then, Space Cadet. Our escort is waiting in the hall.”

“Escort?” Castiel frowns.

“To the hospital?”

Castiel’s frown deepens. “I understand where we’re going. I don’t understand why we need assistance getting there.”

The Marshall stares at him for a long moment, brilliant green eyes unblinking. He licks his lips and Castiel tracks the movement of his tongue without any conscious realization that he’s doing it. “We haven’t found the shooter yet,” the man says slowly.

“Right.” A heavy weight settles on Castiel’s chest, constricting his throat. “I’m sure you’re busy and would like to be helping. I can get cab.”

“What? Dude, you’re the only witness. You can’t just catch a cab on your own. We’re stuck with each other whether we like it or not.”

“Of course,” Castiel says quietly. Something about all of this holds grave importance, but he can’t focus, can’t think past the sharp pain in his head. He wants to go home. He misses his cat. 

The Marshall gives him a look, eyes flicking to the cut on his head, then back to his eyes. “Let’s go.”

.

~*~

.

They admit him to the hospital for an overnight stay so the doctor can “keep an eye on him”. Bullshit. He’s infuriated up until someone walks by with a stack of pizza boxes and the smell makes him lean over the side of his bed and vomit. Maybe they aren’t overbearing and really are concerned about his “traumatic brain injury”.

Or maybe not. The nurse scurries from the room with the trash can he managed to ralph in and the Marshall laughs as he hands him a cup of water. He makes a cute quip about weak stomachs at the same time there’s a knock at the door.

The laugh dies an instant death on the Marshall’s face and he removes his sidearm from its holster, silently waving Castiel into the bathroom with his free hand. He slides from the bed too quickly and stumbles, catching himself on a machine before he manages to get under the doorway. He grips the knob, ready to pull the door shut at a moment’s notice. His heart races out of his chest as the Marshall positions himself and his gun behind the door and then pulls it open in one swift motion that has Castiel flinching back at the abruptness of it.

“Claire?”

The name itself has Castiel’s heart tripping all over itself before rational thought reminds him that it’s been over two decades since he last saw his sister and she’s likely dead anyway. Nine-year-olds don’t make it on the streets. The Marshall holsters his gun, blocking Castiel’s view of the doorway and shoots a sheepish grin over his shoulder.

“Sorry. Little sister.” Castiel’s heart plummets. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“Of course.” He tries not to let his disappointment bleed into his tone. He should be used to it after all. It’s been a long and fruitless search, but each new let down cuts deeper than the last and he’s beginning to wonder how deep those cuts can get before he can no longer rebound from them. There’s been so many.

As the Marshall twists to reach for the open door to pull it shut and step into the hall, Castiel catches a glimpse of blonde hair, blue eyes, and a face that he’s seen staring back at him from countless sketches and computerized images. His breath stalls in his chest as their eyes connect for a brief moment before the door closes with a  _ snick _ .

He trips across the room, his heart pounding against his ribs. He’s glad he already threw up because he feels bile at the back of his throat and his stomach is churning as he rips open the door, a cry on his lips.

“ _ Wait! _ ”

He stumbles to a stop, inches from crashing into the back of the green-eyed, be-freckled U.S. Marshall.

“Whoa buddy, didja think I was leaving?” The Marshall jokes, eyes crinkling as he drops a steadying hand to his shoulder. Castiel shakes him off, his attention only on the blonde woman now eyeing him with raised eyebrows.

“Claire?”


	3. Chapter 3

It’s barely a whisper, but Dean stumbles back a step to better see Cas and is immediately wrong-footed. The first time he’d seen Cas was with that smug, holier-than-thou expression and his trusty stick firmly in place up his ass. The second time he’d seen him he was confused and a little rattled, but still a stubborn ass. Even when Dean caught him crying in the bathroom trying to get the blood off his hands, he recovered in minutes. Now, he looks shell-shocked. The is man unfazed by becoming the target of someone unafraid of murdering a federal judge at a public event and has the ability to kill a  _ demon _ , but at the sight of Dean’s baby sister, he looks like he could pass out. What. The. Hell.

Before he even realizes he’s doing it, Dean positions himself between Cas and Claire.

“What’s going on?” Dean demands, glancing back at Claire. He’s relieved to see she looks just as bewildered as he is.

“Claire?” Cas says again, this time stronger, surer of himself. “Is-, Are you-,” Cas closes his eyes and takes a deep steadying breath before opening his eyes again and starting over. But he still doesn’t make any goddamn sense.

“You look just like her,” he breathes, twitching like he wants to step closer, but then he falls back into inactivity. “I mean, as far I can tell. I’ve run the aging programs and they’re only so accurate considering I don’t… I don’t have many photographs so really there’s no telling… But your name is Claire.”

Claire glances hesitantly at Dean, who gives her his most baffled look. She steps forward.

“Yeah. Who are you?”

“Castiel,” he says quietly, not daring to look away from Claire or so much as blink like she’ll disappear. “Novak.”

Claire stares blankly at hearing his first name, but then her head snaps back and she sucks in a startled breath at “Novak”. She goes white and the only thing that stops Dean from bodily removing Cas from her immediate vicinity is the hesitant half step Claire takes towards him. Instead, he settles for gripping her elbow tightly, just in case she decides to hit the floor.

Cas’s face does something weird then. It flashes between something like amazement and then nausea and then disbelief before it finally settles into shock.

“It is you,” he says, no longer a question. Claire nods.

“What the hell is going on?” Dean demands. Cas’s gaze flickers to him for the briefest moment, like he’d forgotten he was there. Claire’s stare lingers on Castiel before she forcibly moves it over to focus on Dean. She licks her lips.

“This is uh- my brother,” she says, blinking rapidly. “My biological brother, Jimmy.”

Dean’s brain stutters over the information. He almost doesn’t register Cas’s (Jimmy’s?) strangled sounding laugh. It’s not a real laugh. It sounds more pained than anything, but it’s the closest thing to a laugh that Dean’s heard throughout his entire acquaintance with the weirdo.

“I’d almost forgotten. That you insisted on calling me that,” Castiel says breathlessly, wonderment, disbelief, and even a trace of fear crowding his features. “Because you thought Castiel was-”

“A stuffy and pretentious name that doesn’t fit you,” Claire finishes gently, a small smile curling the corner of her mouth. “I remember.”

“You remember,” Castiel echoes shaking his head as though to clear the fog. Dean’s waiting for the guy to collapse. He looks like he’s going to pass out any second.

“You… You ran away,” Castiel says slowly like he’s trying to find the words to some long forgotten speech. “You were only nine. I tried to find you. As soon as I could. But the records… there weren’t any. And you were just gone and I... and I… I...”

Cas sucks in several deep breaths and looks like he’s on the verge of hyperventilating. Claire takes a step forward but Castiel scuttles back, smacking his heel into the doorframe as he goes and shaking his head rapidly. Claire sucks in her lips in frustration but stays away.

“I thought you were dead,” Castiel tells her, his eyes wet and a confusing mess of anger, sadness, and relief. It’s more emotions than Dean has seen in the man since they’ve met. “You were  _ nine _ and you ran away and then disappeared so of course I…” He cuts himself off and closes his eyes to draw in a shuddering breath. When his eyes open again his back is straighter and his chin is higher.

“I knew… it had to have been bad, but I still...” Another deep breath. “I never stopped looking.” He laughs again, just as lacking in mirth as the first and a pained smile twists at his lips. “I took this  _ awful _ job writing speeches for, for  _ assholes _ just so maybe I could find someone who knew something, somewhere. And I... I had to know, so I never stopped. We were family so I couldn’t just let you  _ go _ . I couldn’t.”

“I understand,” Claire says quietly, so different from her usual boisterous self. It’s only then that Dean realizes that she’s retreated into her work persona. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

Castiel shakes his head. “I um… I think I need to go sit down.”

Claire smiles reassuringly and nods.

“I’ll just be a few minutes,” Castiel says, not moving from the spot or showing any inclination to.

“Take whatever time you need.”

“You’ll still- Don’t leave. Please,” Castiel says, a distinct note of begging coloring his tone. Claire’s face softens into something more like her.

“I swear,” she says and draws an X over her heart with her index finger. Castiel tracks the gesture and then turns his piercing stare onto unsuspecting Dean.

“You won’t let her disappear,” Castiel says, his voice hoarse and his gaze unrelenting. Dean blinks at him and then glances down at Claire and her expectant stare before turning back to Castiel.

“I’m hardly her keeper, but I’ll do what I can,” Dean replies hesitantly. Castiel studies him for a long moment.

“You’re a man of your word,” he says. It’s not a question but Dean nods anyway.

“Okay,” Castiel says. “Don’t go,” he says to Claire.

“I’ll be here,” Claire says steadily. Castiel nods and then turns to leave. He has to stop in the doorway for a moment with his hand on the frame but then he presses on and closes the door behind him.

As soon as that moment comes, Claire’s mask slips away and she turns to face Dean. Panic, happiness, disbelief, shock, fear, all prominent in Castiel’s absence. “What the fuck?” she whispers. And then come the tears.

“You have a brother?” Dean hisses, shooting a glance at the closed door.

Claire presses the heels of her hands to her eyes and nods, sniffing noisily. “He… We got split up. Apparently, we were annoying little shits and no one wanted the pair of us.” She laughs wetly. “They thought maybe we would stand a better chance at adoption if we weren’t together and I guess they were right. He got adopted within a year and I… well you know all about that.”

Dean nods, lips pursed as he pulls her against his chest in a fierce hug. There are a lot of foster families that only want a kid for the tax money they bring in. They aren’t good with kids and they don’t want kids, but they put on a good show and take good enough care of the kids to fly under the radar of child protective services and while the kid will never know a loving home, at least they have a pillow under their head and food in their belly.

Then there are people who hate kids and let them know it and feel it through empty stomachs and bruises under clothes, amongst other things. Claire narrowly escaped the latter before she wound up at Singer Home.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Did you tell anyone?”

Claire sniffs and pulls back, visibly finding her composure as she wipes her eyes with her sleeves. “Charlie knows. She uh, helped me track him down, seems like forever ago. I guess I was in high school back then.”

“ _ Dude _ ,” Dean says. The “not cool” is implied.

She pulls a face. “He looked happy. I just wanted to make sure that he got a good one, you know?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks again. He’s trying to ignore the little nugget of hurt inside his heart, but he genuinely thought there were no secrets left in their group. Not big ones.

“I wanted to forget. I didn’t want you to get all-,” she flutters her fingers at him, “ _ involved _ .”

“Pfft! I wouldn’t’ve-,”

“Back then?” Claire interrupts, eyebrow raised.

Dean pulls a face. “Yeah okay, so maybe I would’ve wanted to scope the kid out. What’s wrong with that?”

“You would’ve talked to him.”

“Yeah. That’s how you effectively scope-,”

“You might have told him about me.”

“Only if he checked out!”

“I wouldn’t have wanted you to!”

“He’s your  _ brother _ .” 

“ _ It was my choice _ .”

Dean sighs and runs a hand through his hair. It catches in the gel. “So what do we do?”

“I don’t know,” Claire says miserably.

Dean squeezes her shoulder. “Well, whatever you decide-whatever your  _ choice _ is-I’ll back you 100%.”

Claire sniffs. “Thanks, Dean.”

He chews the inside of his cheek as he absently watches the bustle of nurses and doctors over the top of her head. “Do you want to talk to him again? You didn’t seem… happy to see him.”

Claire chews her lip. “I think I do. I was surprised, still am, but if he really has spent the past twenty-something years looking for me… I kind of owe him, right?”

“You don’t owe him jack shit.”

Claire snorts and wipes her nose on her sleeve with a light laugh. “Yeah, but... I think I want to.”

Anxiety trills behind Dean’s breastbone but he forces it into a little box and locks it tight. Logically, he knows Claire finding her secret long-lost brother won’t affect what they have. It won’t change anything about their rock-solid family of misfits and oddballs, but it  _ is _ going to shake it up. They’ll stick together through it like they always have, but things are going to change and what will they look like once they’re out the other side?

Claire laughs to herself and rubs the knuckle of her thumb against her forehead. “Anyway, the whole reason I came by was to check on you. I heard about the judge. It’s all over the news. Dorothy told me I could find you here.”

“I’m fine.” Claire shoots him a look and he pulls a face in return. “Seriously, I am. I’m pissed that a judge was killed on my watch and I hate it that I’m stuck babysitting but I’m fine.”

“Yeah, I meant to ask, why are you babysitting?” Claire asks. “I thought I’d missed you and you just dropped someone off and were leaving.”

Dean frowns and drops his voice after making sure no one is close enough to overhear. If the media hasn’t gotten wind that there’s a witness, he’s certainly not going to be the one to clue them in. “He’s a witness. The  _ only _ witness and we haven’t caught the shooter yet.”

Claire frowns and glares down at the shining linoleum under her sneakers. “Oh.”

Dean pulls her into a one-armed hug and drops a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll keep him safe,” he murmurs. “I promise.”

Claire hugs him back hard. “I know. I’m glad it’s you.”

He brings up his other arm and completes the hug, holding her until he sees a familiar face over her shoulder. He pats her back, breaking the hug, and Claire turns, following his gaze.

“Heya, Frannie,” Dean greets, earning himself a glare and the cold shoulder. Francesca stands a few inches taller than Claire and her hair is parted into a million tiny little braids that she has pulled into a neat bun at the back of her neck. She’s been with the U.S. Marshall’s long enough to know most of Dean’s crew by now.

“Hey Fran,” Claire says. “How’s the shoulder healing?”

Francesca rolls her left shoulder easily and grins. “Good as new, I’d say. About damn time too. I don’t think I could have stood one more day dodging my ma’s phone calls and pretending to be out. She seems to think rest and recovery means shopping and mani-pedi time.”

Dean and Claire smile and nod. Neither one truly remembers what it’s like to have a mom so it’s hard to relate and even harder to understand why anyone would want to avoid their mom.

“Anyway,” Fran continues, turning big dark eyes onto Dean, “Henrickson’s asking for you back at the crime scene. I’m taking over here.”

Dean hesitates and trades a glance with Claire. Fran doesn’t seem to notice and continues, “You’ll need to come back in the morning and relieve me. Carver thinks you should take point on getting our witness to the safe house since you’ve already established a rapport.”

Dean purses his lips and nods. Normally, he’d balk at more babysitting duty, but he made a promise. “Yeah, alright. I’ll be by bright and early.” He turns to Claire. “Are you gonna…?” He gestures uselessly at the door.

She eyes it warily before straightening her shoulders and nodding decisively. “You can go. Do your job. Bring home the bacon. I’ll talk to him.”

Dean chews the inside of his cheek. “Alright. Let me know when you’re leaving and when you get home. We might have to postpone dinner tomorrow. I’ll let you know.”

Claire squeezes his forearm. “It’s fine. Stay safe and let me know when you get home. I’ll probably go harass Sam tomorrow since you’ll be busy.” She smiles impishly.

Dean huffs a laugh. “Yeah okay. Tell him from me he’s still a bitch.”

Claire rolls her eyes. “Tell him yourself. I’m not an owl.”

Dean gives her a weird look and Claire rolls her eyes. “Harry Potter. You really should at least watch the movies. Me and Charlie need to get on that.”

“Uh huh. Anyway, good luck in there. Call me if you need me.”

“I will.”

They hug and when they part Claire heads for the door to the hospital room.

“He pretty shook up?” Fran asks curiously.

Claire shrugs. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Well it’s lucky that you’re here,” Fran says with a proud grin. “Best trauma psychologist in the country.”

“Yeah.” Claire forces a grin and flicks a glance at Dean over Fran’s shoulder. “Super lucky.”

.

~*~

.

“A little to the left, Dean. Perfect, right there! Do you see the shoes?”

Dean squints at the small black and white screen and tries to make the grainy lines and blobs form into a picture. He’s never been good at optical illusions and Charlie’s outdated camera scope feed almost qualifies.

“On the bed?” Dean hazards a guess, scrutinizing the two vaguely loafer shaped lumps protruding out from what appear to be pant-covered legs. “Those don’t look like black high heels.”

“Pumps,” Charlie corrects, unthinkingly.

“Same thing?” Dean shoots an unsure look up at Victor who’s leaning against the wall with his hand casually resting on the gun holstered on his hip. He makes a face and shrugs before going back to looking like he’s trying to catch a nap standing up. This is the fourteenth room they’ve searched and it’s after ten at night. They’ve been at this god-forsaken hotel since at least that early this morning.

“Uh, no. But anyway, you’re right that they definitely aren’t heels of any kind.”

“So this isn’t our shooter.” Disappointed courses through him, but not surprise.

Charlie shrugs as she carefully retracts the long, snake-like camera from under the door. “Not necessarily. That could be a dead body on the bed and she’s hiding in the bathroom or whatever.”

Dean rolls his eyes and readies his gun for the sweep. It’s highly unlikely their shooter is camped out in a random room on the 12th floor, but no one answered their courtesy call so they have to check. Charlie parts with a peace sign and Dean waits until she’s safely in the service elevator before he nods to Victor.

Victor takes point, using his master key to unlock the door before he bursts in gun-first with Dean on his heels. The poor gentleman napping fully clothed on the bed almost has a heart attack and they have to wait for him to put his hearing aids back in before they can calm him down and explain the situation.

The shooter is not hiding in the bathroom.

.

~*~

.

“We’ll need to push out the search perimeter,” Victor says to the room of tired, but alert, U.S. Marshalls while marking several spots on an abused paper map. Dean doesn’t miss Charlie’s pained expression as she watches him reach for a protractor and pulls out her tablet. She quickly pulls up her own, much more detailed, map and copies his markings. A moment later every phone in the room chirps, chimes, or vibrates to indicate that they have a new email. They all know it’s from Charlie.

Victor gives her the stink-eye. “I  _ like _ paper.”

“And that’s totally fine,” Charlie says, eyes wide and earnest. “But the rest of us would rather not be dragged back into the stone ages with you. An electronic version fits in your pocket! And you can zoom in and-,”

She catches the look on his face. “Shutting up.” She mines zipping her lips.

“Everybody out,” Victor commands. “You know your roles and we’ve got a criminal to apprehend.”

Dean pulls out his phone. He needs to check in with Franchesca to see how it went with Cas and the sketch artist they sent over to get a face for their manhunt.

“Don’t forget she’s a master of disguise!” Charlie blurts at everyone’s backs as they bottleneck to get out the door of the cramped conference room. “Also dangerous and intelligent enough to kill a demon and get out of a building full of people trained to prevent that stuff.”

Victor gives her another sour look as Dean claps a hand on her shoulder. “We all got your dossier, Charles. They got this.”

Charlie blows out a breath, making her bangs flutter. “I know, I know. It’s just… this woman is dangerous, Dean. She killed a  _ demon _ .”

Dean frowns as something that’s been bothering him all night struggles to the surface of his thoughts.

“Crowley’s really dead? How do we know he didn’t smoke out?”

Charlie shakes her head. “You mean besides that our  _ eyewitness _ says he didn’t?” She bites her lips together. “You didn’t see the body up close. If he made it out, he’ll need a new meat suit.”

“I hate that you all call them that,” Victor mutters from his table where he’s still bent over his map, now with a magnifying glass as well as the protractor, but clearly listening.

Charlie ignores him. “That one is fried from the inside out.”

Dean taps his phone against his thigh restlessly, frowning deeply.

“Hey Vic,” he says, pulling Victor away from his busy-work.

“Yeah.”

“What’d Cas say about the guns again?”

Victor’s expression goes flat. “You were the one the witness told first-hand. Shouldn’t you-,”

“Humor me. Charlie, what do you have?”

Charlie eyes him curiously and hastens to flip through several pages on her tablet while Victor wanders over curiously.

“Witness statement says one was long-nosed and silver and the other was-,”

“Yeah, yeah. But which one was used on Crowley?”

“Silver, long-nose.”

Dean purses his lips. “Did you get the bullet from the body?”

Charlie wrinkles her nose. “Yep. It stayed in one piece and everything.”

“Can I see it?”

“I sent it with everything else back to the lab for analysis, but I don’t see why not.”

Dean stuffs his phone in his pocket. Fran knows to call him if there are issues.

“Awesome, let’s go.”

“Now hold on,” Victor says at the same time Charlie says, “Woah, hold your horses. Some of us are still working and aren’t here just for funsies.”

“And aren’t you going to bother to share your idea with the class?” Victor demands.

Dean groans. “It’s not really an idea. When can we go, then?”

“There’s a smudge in the stairwell that Victor wants me to collect and then I’m all yours.”

“Fine, but would you hurry it up?”

Charlie glares playfully and crosses her arms over her chest. “Only if you tell Vic and me what’s going on in your head.”

Victor smiles smugly and mimics her crossed arms. “What she said. Clue your partner in, would you?”

Dean huffs and rubs the back of his neck, shifting self-consciously. “It’s… I don’t know. It’s a hunter fairy-tale, I guess.” Victor and Charlie’s eyebrows raise; Charlie’s with curiosity and Victor’s with incredulity. “It’s not real, but there’s a myth that a hunter named Samuel Colt crafted a gun in 1835. That part’s true at least. The myth is that the gun could kill anything.”

Charlie snorts. “Isn’t that what guns were invented for? Killing?”

“You’re not thinking about the supernatural,” Dean points out and Charlie’s eyes go wide and distant.

“The legend says this gun could kill  _ anything _ : vampires, werewolves, angels-,”

“Demons,” Charlie finishes for him in a hushed tone. “It fits. Silver and long-nosed sounds like an old-timey gun and Crowley is dead as a door-,”

“It doesn’t exist.”

Charlie stops mid-word and stares at Dean. “Excuse me? Mr. I-Was-Raised-To-Be-A-Badass-Hunter say what?”

Dean scowls. That’s exactly the problem. Trying to find this stupid gun is exactly why his dad dragged him and Sam into the hunting life and this stupid gun is what led his dad to the funeral pyre. It’s not real. It can’t be. They tried too hard, looked too long. If the stupid thing actually existed, they would have found it. They didn’t.

“Like I said, it’s just a fairy-tale.”

“You can’t say that when I know fae exist,” Charlie argues.

“And  _ something _ killed Crowley,” Victor says.

“Yeah” Charlie agrees, eye alight. “Something old fashioned and gun-shaped.”

“It’s not real,” Dean snaps.

“But what if-,”

“It’s  _ not _ ,” Dean cuts her off, leaving her affronted. Dean closes his eyes for a long moment and when he opens them again he focuses on speaking in a calm even tone. “Just… trust me. It isn’t the Colt.”

“How do you know?” Victor asks.

“I just do.”

Victor and Charlie trade glances.

“Dean,” Victor starts slowly, “We’ve got a dead judge, no shooter, and no answers on how it was possible. Trusting you isn’t good enough this time.”

Charlie glances between the two of them-Dean glaring heatedly and Victor staring cooly back-and clears her throat. “Right, well I am gonna go get that smudge.” She pats her pockets distractedly and then finds what she’s looking for on the table behind her and scoops up the small kit, saluting awkwardly before slipping out the door.

Dean opens his mouth, but at the exact moment, the door clicks shut Gabriel materializes out of thin air two feet in front of him and behind Victor.

“Holy  _ fuck _ !”

Victor whirls around, gun drawn, but Gabriel snaps his fingers and the gun deflates with a sad whine. Victor jerks his hand away from it and it lands on the floor with a splat.

“What  _ are _ you?” Dean asks, staring at the rubbery blob that used to be a Glock.

Gabriel only smirks. “Hello to you, too. Where’s my baby bro?”

Dean can feel the unchecked power rolling off his him, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He ignores them and fakes nonchalance, folding his arms across his chest.

“He’s shook up. Has a pretty nasty concussion. Doesn’t know what to think about suddenly finding out his brother isn’t human and hid it from him.”

Gabriel flinches and backs off. The air becomes immediately more breathable. Taking a freeing breath, Dean checks on Victor and sees he’s staring at his gun forlornly, as though he didn’t sense a thing. 

“Did you see the shooter?” Dean demands.

“Is he mad?”

Dean hides his surprise at the quiet question and the sudden change in demeanor and holds onto his stone-faced stare.

“Did you see the shooter?” he repeats.

“No,” Gabriel spits bitterly.  _ Damn _ . “Now answer my question.”

Dean allows his posture and tone to soften and tries not to dwell on his disappointment. Cases are a lot less sticky when there’s more than one witness.

“He doesn’t know what to think,” he repeats, uncrossing his arms and sticking his hands in the pockets of his slacks. He’s not sure that he wants to get into the whole Claire thing and he’s not sure how he feels about that himself so he sticks to the issue as it concerns Gabriel. “He’s pissed and scared. He’s had a lot of shocks tonight and the head injury isn’t helping him get it all straightened out.”

Gabriel blows out a breath, letting his lips flap noisily, and runs a hand through his hair as he begins to pace. “So should I keep my distance until he cools off or do I go explain ASAP?”

“Uh…” Dean glances at Victor who suddenly bustles off to go back to his map without comment.  _ Ass _ . “How should I know? I just met the guy. What’s he like? Is he a Sam? Does he stew and build up anger and resentment and be a passive-aggressive little shit for months before he either blows up or lets it go? Or a Benny? Water off the duck’s back, forgive and forget, don’t rock the boat.”

Gabriel snorts. “Definitely not.”

“How ‘bout a Jo?” Victor chimes in with a shudder.

Dean grins, all teeth. “Jo: Happy to forgive once you’ve paid your dues in molars.”

Victor touches his jaw tenderly. “Try bicuspids.”

“That’s what you get for asking her out third.”

“I can’t help it that you have an interesting family.”

“ _ Third _ , Vic. After the  _ lesbian _ .”

“I. Didn’t.  _ Know _ .”

Dean snickers and turns back to Gabriel who is regarding him with an unamused expression.

“He’s none of those,” he complains. “He’ll go one of two routes: punch you in the face and give you the cold shoulder for a week until he gets over it or be cold and distant but pretend everything is okay while systematically removing you from his life until you’re nothing but a vaguely unpleasant memory.”

Dean and Victor trade glances.

“He’s a  _ Daire _ ,” Victor says gravely.

“Oh shut up.”

“A Daire,” Gabriel says sardonically. “So what do you suggest I do about that?”

Dean shrugs. “Hope like hell he punches you in the face? I ain’t a therapist.”

“Lucky, that,” Gabriel fires back. “You’re shit at it.”

“Yeah, whatever. I take it you didn’t manage to track down the shooter?”

“No,” Gabriel sneers bitterly. “She banished me before I got within smiting distance or she would’ve been a smear on the wall.”

Victor’s head snaps up from his map. “I thought you said you didn’t see her.”

“I didn’t,” Gabriel says, “But not many guys would be able to run up stairs that fast wearing heels so I kind of figured it out.”

“What do you mean banished?” Dean asks, frowning. He can’t think of many beings that are banish-able, not with the kind of power Gabriel has.

“Like I’d tell you, pretty boy.”

Dean glares, liking him less and less by the minute.

“So you think you could do me a favor?” Gabriel weedles. Dean scoffs. Fat chance.

.

**Castiel**

.

Patience is a fickle thing. Castiel considers himself a patient person. He doesn’t honk when the person in front of him doesn’t go the moment the light turns green. He puts up with the black cat hair that clogs the drain in his sink because his stubborn cat thinks it makes a great bed. He even spent over twenty years searching for his long-lost sister.

He is  _ exceedingly _ patient.

That being said, he finds there are some things that go beyond even his seemingly bottomless well of fortitude and sitting around at the hospital perfectly healthy while a stranger guards his door is at the top of the list.

“Can I at least walk around the floor?”

The dark-skinned woman doesn’t even look at him. “I’m sorry sir, but that isn’t permissible for-,”

“For my own safety,” Cas says sullenly.

It’s been the same song and dance since last night-worse this morning now that his head only has a slight ache and he has fresh memories of his conversation with Claire. He wasn’t entirely coherent for it so he’s eager for a repeat. He’s also not used to being this stagnant in the mornings, despite not being a morning person. His cat usually wakes him up every morning as soon as the birds begin to sing, but his morning run and a veritable truckload of coffee are the only things that clear the fog. The hot, burnt bean water provided by the hospital doesn’t qualify, leaving him 0 for 2.

“Even if you walk with me?” he pries after a moment of silence.

She looks at him now, one eyebrow raised as if to say, ‘ _ What do you think? _ ’

On a sigh, he turns to go back into the room, only to be stopped by an unfamiliar shout.

“Hey, Cas!”

He turns slowly, his heart rate already at full throttle until he recognizes the U.S. Marshal from yesterday. He doesn’t remember his name, but he’s holding two paper travel cups presumably containing coffee of superior quality over what’s been so far provided to Castiel so he makes a silent promise to get to know him better.

“Figured you deserved something better than cheap hospital coffee after yesterday,” the man says with a breathless grin.

Castiel wraps his fingers around the warm paper cup and inhales deeply. It smells like salvation. “Thank God.”

The man smirks, “That’s sweet, but my friends call me Dean.” He winks.

“Dean,” Castiel repeats, solemnly, committing the name to memory. He fits his lips over the spout and takes a long drink, eyes closed in bliss. It’s barely warm and needs more sugar, but he can already feel his skin settling back onto his bones and the gears in his head beginning to shake off the rush.

When he opens his eyes, Dean is watching him with a funny smile and pink cheeks and the guard at the door is staring up at the ceiling with an expression of long-suffering.

Dean clears his throat and holds out the second coffee to the guard. “Miss Francesca, I hereby relieve you of duty.”

Francesca hesitates, then shakes her head; her bun doesn’t so much as wiggle. “Keep it. I’m going home and passing out. My knees are killing me.”

“Ah, alright. Well, have a good one.”

She waves vaguely over her shoulder as she stiffly makes her way down the hall. Castiel eyes the cup in Dean’s hand while sipping from his own. Dean glances at the cup as well and then cranes his neck to peer around the hall.

“I already had my two cups, but maybe there’s a nurse or-,”

Castiel lightly slips the cup from between Dean’s fingers and cradles it to his chest, all without removing his lips from his rightful drink. He eyes Dean, silently begging him not to argue.

Dean blinks away his surprise and replaces it with amusement. “Man after my own heart,” he muses under his breath. He gestures for Castiel to lead the way into the room proper and Castiel does so without complaint, happy to at least have caffeine if he can’t have freedom.

He drops onto the bed and carefully holds his full coffee between his thighs. The other is halfway gone, but it won’t last much longer. He pops off the lid and gulps it down while Dean prattles on about their agenda for the day. Once it’s empty, he tosses it in the trash and pops the lid off the second.

“Slow down there, cowboy,” Dean says.

Cas defiantly holds his gaze as he takes a long drink, purely to be contrary, but then Dean tosses a sheaf of papers onto the bed beside him.

“Release papers,” Dean says in response to Castiel’s unasked question. He sets aside his coffee.

With a self-assured smirk, Dean hands him a pen and goes back to discussing his itinerary. Castiel listens this time.

“So, like I was saying, your doctor says you’re clear, but you need to take it easy for a couple days; no strenuous activity, running, blah blah. Just don’t get your blood pumping too hard and you’ll be a-okay. And come back if you get dizzy spells or pass out or anything. The usual.”

Castiel isn’t sure how many head injuries one must suffer through before any of the care afterward can be considered “usual,” but he nods regardless.

“Thank you,” he says with heartfelt gratitude. The papers are signed, he’s been dressed and ready to go since dawn, and his coffee is already in a travel cup so he sees no reason for them to stick around any longer. He stands and Dean leads the way back into the hall.

Halfway down the way hall, Castiel is reminded that this man considers his sister his own sister. He knows her better now than Castiel does and possibly ever will. It’s a hard pill to swallow.

They’re in the service elevator that leads to the parking garage below when Dean suddenly runs his hand through his hair, glancing at Castiel only to turn away when their eyes meet.

“What?” Castiel asks.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Dean blurts as the door slide open. “He wanted to see you before you go to the safe house.”

Castiel’s head pulls back and his shoulders tense. “ _ Safe house? _ ”

Dean’s eyes widen and his mouth pops open.

“Hey, baby bro.”

Castiel snaps to face forward and finds Gabriel standing sheepishly with his hands in his pockets in the otherwise empty parking garage. A confusing variety of emotions flit through Castiel in a flurry: fury, hurt, surprise, regret. He musters them all up and shoves them down where he doesn’t have to deal with them and steps out of the elevator.

“What were you saying about a safe house?” he asks as neutrally as possible. He turns back when he realizes Dean isn’t following and lifts his eyebrows as the doors begin to close with Dean still inside.

Dean throws out a hand to catch the door and hurriedly trips out of the elevator. “Uhh…” He casts a glance at Gabriel, but Castiel makes sure his entire attention stays on Dean. “You’re a witness to a federal crime, dude? You’re not safe with the shooter still out there. Did… Nobody explained this to you yesterday?”

Castiel casts his memory back to the night before and vaguely recalls Francesca droning on about something incredibly mundane while he was trying his best to be unconscious and not have to deal with life in general. Perhaps he should have been paying attention.

“It’s… possible it was mentioned,” he says slowly, brow crinkled.

This is quickly becoming a great inconvenience. Dean is looking between him and Gabriel anxiously and it’s  _ irritating _ .

“Cassie-,”

He shoves down the sudden spike of rage and stalks down the lane, not knowing or care which car he’s supposed to be headed towards.

“We’re uh- the white van in row F,” Dean says from half a step behind him.

Castiel makes a sharp right turn, checking the letters on the pillars as he cuts between cars.

“Cassie, I’m sorry.” C… D… “It’s not like I wanted to keep it a secret! You’re the first person I wanted to tell!” E… “But I knew you’d get like this and I couldn’t stand to see you look at me any different. I just-,”

Castiel jerks to a stop ten feet away from the white van in row F and whirls around, neatly side-steps Dean and crowds into Gabriel’s personal space.

“You think I’m angry because you found your grace?” He snaps.

Gabriel is cross-eyed staring at him in shock. “Umm.”

“How long have you been lying to me? How long have you been pretending to be human so I wouldn’t find out?”

Gabriel’s mouth opens and closes.

“ _ Answer me! _ ”

“A couple… a few years,” Gabriel finally says.

From the corner of his eye, Castiel sees Dean cover his face with his hand. “Dude.”

“Years,” Castiel parrots, voice carefully flat, not willing to let the waves of hurt escape, even through his tone.

“Cas, I’m sorr-,”

“ _ Years! _ ” Cas swats away Gabriel’s hand when he tries to put it on his shoulder. He turns away.

“You’re still my brother, Cassie. You’ve always been my brother.”

Castiel pauses, choking on the emotions that bubble up his throat like soda fizz. “I-,” He takes a breath. “I can’t right now.”

He heads for the van at a quick pace, tempted to look over his shoulder, but determined not to. He refrains. He won’t be able to walk away if he sees the look on Gabriel’s face. The heartbreak is nearly palpable as it is. Or maybe that’s his.

“Cas, wait.”

It’s Dean, but Castiel can’t stand to look him in the eye either. He picks up his pace. Maybe it’s for the best that he’s not heading home right now. Time away will help him think. He only needs to get to the van and then-,”

“Cas,  _ stop _ .” Dean grabs his arm and pulls. “I need to check the van befo-,”

Castiel tunes him out and wrenches his arm out of his grip. He needs to get out of here  _ now _ .

“Cas!”

He yanks on the passenger door hard enough to rock the entire vehicle. He barely registers the soft click from the undercarriage before Dean hooks an arm around his chest and bodily throws him to the ground, landing solidly on top of him.

It’s not enough.

One moment, Castiel flat on his back, gaping like a fish out of water, with Dean on top of him pressing his lungs flat, and the next the air turns into fire as the van explodes with an eardrum-shattering  _ boom _ . His vision whites out immediately, but he feels hot metal shards tearing through the skin of his exposed face and legs. On top of him, he feels Dean jerk and twitch and knows he’s taking the brunt of it, but he can’t protect Castiel from the heat.

He can feel his skin blacken and curl, his hair burn away completely. He opens his mouth to scream, but all he hears is a high-pitched ring that gets louder and louder until suddenly-

His back slams into the ground, quickly followed by the back of his skull. He sucks in a startled breath, surprised to find he has the ability. He’s fairly certain he could feel his lungs turning to char only a moment ago. Still, his chest is heavy and breathing is difficult. His fingers don’t want to uncurl where they’ve embedded themselves in whatever’s pinning him down.

Sound comes back all at once and Castiel flinches away from Gabriel’s frantic voice shouting in his ear. Something both soft and prickly tickles Castiel’s nose and the thing on top of him groans.

Reluctantly, Castiel opens his eyes. He blinks a few times before the plain white walls and wide picture window streaming sunlight will come into focus. When they do, the first thing he notices is that they’re in Gabriel’s apartment… in New York. The second thing is Dean on top of him with his nose buried in Castiel’s shoulder.

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice comes out as a croak like he’s relearning how to use his vocal cords. “Are you alright?”

Dean’s voice is muffled by Castiel’s t-shirt. “Are we dead?”

“I hope not,” Cas says. “Gabriel’s here.”

Dean snorts softly, seemingly in no hurry to get up.

“You’re crushing me,” Castiel informs him.

“Sorry,” Dean grunts and lifts himself with his arms, bringing Castiel’s hands with him. Dean pauses and they both stare at Castiel’s hands fisted in Dean’s jacket, one on his shoulder and the other over his heart, before Castiel remembers how to use his fingers and painstakingly untangles them.

“Sorry,” he says, quietly sheepish.

Dean rolls off of him, onto his back and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. A shot of remorse and guilt loosens Castiel’s tongue.

“It was my fault, I’m sorry. You tried to stop me and I should have listened.”

Dean shakes his head wordlessly and drops his hands to his chest with a sigh. “No, man. I should have been focused on doing my damn job. I screwed it up.”

Castiel says nothing for a long moment, staring at the side of Dean’s head until Dean turns and meets it.

“We should be dead.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re  _ welcome _ ,” Gabriel interjects forcefully.

Castiel flinches, having forgotten he was in the room. He stands in front of his gold-framed futon with his arms crossed over his chest and a smirk curling his lips. There’s a strangely considering look in his eye as he looks between Castiel and Dean.

“If you two lovebirds are done making eyes at each other, can someone please tell me what the  _ fuck _ that was?”

Dean rolls his eyes and shakily gets to his feet. “Obviously, it was a bomb.” He brushes off his backside to no avail, he’s coated in soot and dirt, and surreptitiously checks himself over for wounds that are no longer there. The plastic communicator in his ear gets removed and stuffed into his pocket, now malformed and useless.

Castiel carefully stands as well and resists the temptation to touch his face, feeling for rips in the flesh and hard blackened skin. He does check that Gabriel regrew his eyebrows. It would be so like him to “forget”.

“What I want to know,” Dean continues after evidently satisfying himself that he is unmarked from their almost-catastrophe, “is how the hell we aren’t charred corpses in a cement tomb.”

“Obviously, because I zapped you out and healed up that ugly mug of yours on the way. Not easy to heal and fly by the way!”

“Huh,” Dean says, hands on his hips, eyeing Gabriel critically.

Castiel unconsciously holds his breath, waiting for Dean’s reaction. While the supernatural is known to the world and roams freely with mankind, there are those who aren’t so accepting.

“Well thanks, but uh…” He glances out the window at the bumper-to-bumper traffic several stories below. “Where the hell are we?”

Gabriel grins and sticks a sucker in his mouth that wasn’t in his hand a moment ago. “Welcome to my humble abode. It was the first place I thought of, but not a bad choice, amiright?”

“Uhh,” Dean’s gaze roves over the gold-framed futon with its pure white cushion, the over-large oil painting of a modern-day topless woman, the crystal chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling, and finally, the overflowing bookcase full of porno DVDs. “It’s tacky as hell, but somehow it suits you.”

Gabriel thinks that one over and then shrugs. “Pretty sure that was an insult, but I’ll roll with it since I’m pretty sure I’ll have decades to plot revenge.”

Dean makes a skeptical face. “A big trial like this is going to get expedited through the courts. You’ve got a few months at most.”

Gabriel smirks and shoots a significant glance towards Castiel. Castiel tilts his head to the side with a frown. That look means trouble. He doesn’t like it.

“We’ll see,” Gabriel says cryptically.

Dean’s gaze darts to Castiel then back to Gabriel. He clears his throat. “Right. Anyway, how do we get back to the hospital? My team probably thinks me and Cas are dead by now. My commlink is toast.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes and snaps his fingers. Castiel’s feet don’t leave the floor. It’s more like reality shifts and reforms around him between one blink and the next and suddenly they’re in the waiting room of the hospital.

Dean stumbles, but Castiel catches him with a firm hand on either arm.

“What the fuck, man?” Dean says, weakly.

The waiting room is chaos. Hospital staff run in and out of the secure door to what Castiel assumes is the Emergency Room, wheeling out sick and bleeding patients with scary efficiency while gray smoke hangs in the air.

“What is going-,”

“How did you get in here?” a nurse in white scrubs demands. “Out!” He shoos them towards the door without waiting for an answer.

“What the hell is going on?”

The nurse looks at Dean like he’s an idiot.

“That explosion came from the parking garage under the hospital. We have to assume the building’s structural integrity has been compromised and evacuate until someone can inspect it and tell us otherwise. Follow the crowd,” he says, gesturing to the mass of people moving steadily away from the building. “I’m sure you can figure it out.”

Dumbfounded, the three of them step outside and fall in with the virtual sea of people marching, rolling, and limping away from the ten-story building that apparently could collapse at any moment.

Dean scans the crowd for danger, shoulders tense and head on a swivel, but after looking back, Castiel knows there’s nothing to worry about. The hospital is leaning, not a lot, but enough to be noticeable if you’re looking for it, and thick black smoke continues to billow out from underground. If the shooter was watching, there is no way she could guess that they’re still alive. By all rights, they shouldn’t be.


	4. Chapter 4

They end up walking most of the way to his office; the roads are all jammed with people trying to get away from the hospital and he isn’t gonna to let Gabriel zap them anywhere again anytime soon. His insides feel kinda funny as it is. He takes his phone out of his pocket to call Victor and let him know they made it out and maybe bum a ride, then discovers his cell phone more closely resembles a misshapen plastic brick than any kind of technology. He trades a look with Cas who checks his back pocket and finds his phone has met a similar fate.

The sound of dismay has barely escaped his lips before, with a roll of his eyes, Gabriel snaps his fingers and both of their phones are suddenly pristine. Even the crack on his camera from when he dropped it a week after buying it is gone.

“Huh,” Dean says and hits the power button. Castiel follows suit and they continue to shuffle along with the crowd as their phones slowly power on.

“I can’t do anything about whatever you had on it,” Gabriel explains, sticking close enough behind them enough that he can talk almost directly in their ears. Dean thinks he’s being annoying on purpose and Castiel's deep scowl confirms the suspicion. “I’m not a miracle worker you know.”

Dean snorts. “Coulda fooled me.”

He dials Victor’s number from memory and waits for the other side to pick up. “Hey, Vic-,”

He rips the phone away from his ear, Victor's shouts audible enough that even Cas can hear him, if not understand what he's bellowing about. It’s harsh and too loud for the speaker to transmit cleanly. He catches a few words, “Dead, fucking explosion, hospital, and worried sick,” and gets the gist of it.

“Alright! I- Victor,  _ shut up _ !” They’re drawing stares now. He can tell by the way Cas looks down and drifts away like he thinks maybe they will only stare at him, but Dean matches him step for step as he continues to try and drown out his partner enough to explain.

“Just come get us, would you? My fucking feet hurt and my clothes are so full of ash I’m starting to chafe.”

This only serves to set off another bout of shouting and he has to take the phone away from his ear again until he catches another gap where he can butt in.

“I’m fine, Vic. We’re fine. But we gotta get Cas off the street so get your ass as close to the hospital as you can and let me know where you end up. We’re heading north on MLK. I- Hello?” Dean pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at the screen where it blinks, “Call Ended.”

“Son of a bitch hung up on me. Whatever.” He pockets his phone with a grunt. “He’ll come.”

It’s his job for one thing, and he'd never leave Dean high and dry on a case, no matter what stupid reckless thing Dean has done this time. Still, by the time Vic picks them up is his ugly ass SUV he's thirsty as hell and judging by the way Cas is favoring his left foot, he's got a blister. Gabriel, that fucker, is completely fine and chatters about nonsense all the way to the safe house while Cas stares out the window and Victor sits in stony silence in the driver's seat.

.

~*~

.

The safehouse is boring, or at least Dean has always thought so. It’s one of their old standbys and has only been used a few times, but they always keep it well stocked for days like today.

It’s a plain farmhouse-two-stories of white siding and black shutters, all of it peeling. There’s a chicken coop with no chickens; a wrap around porch with nowhere to sit; and a front door with no knob. In fact, the only way into the house is through the back door, but there are three ways to get out.

The view isn’t even that great. Dirt fields and distant trees eventually give way to civilization, but you wouldn’t know it from here. They can see anything approaching through the fields for miles and only one ramshackle dirt road can get you here. It’s why they’ve hung onto this place for so long.

Cas hikes his duffel bag higher onto his shoulder and mutters, “I’m going to go change.” He hates it here just as much as Dean does. He can tell by the way he glares at the shiny padlock on the doors to the dilapidated barn as he slumps past.

He can complain all he wants. He’s safe here and at least Vic had the foresight to bring Cas’s luggage and some generic extras. He’s going to be here awhile so two sets of clothes aren’t going to cut it. He’s lucky he already had a bag packed so he at least got a couple things of his own. Most people don’t get that luxury when they go into witness protection.

Dean watches an agent hold the back door open for Cas to stomp through, Gabriel trailing him awkwardly. The agent trades a glance with Dean and only continues to hold the door for Gabe after receiving a nod from Dean. Not just anyone gets access to the house. The only reason Gabe has the privilege is because Dean hasn’t discovered a way to keep him out yet.

The other agents got here long before them, probably early morning, but possibly as early as last night. They’ll have already checked the house for anything and everything and set up a rotating guard schedule for at least the next week.

A familiar face with a dark slicked back ponytail exits the house, casting a confused glance back at Cas and Gabe before she turns and meets Dean’s eyes across the yard. Dean grins and waves hello as he makes his way to the back porch. It’s been awhile since he’s had the honor of working with Rodriguez. Last time was a rather memorable chase after a homicidal shapeshifter with an eye for brunettes. At that time, Dean and Rodriguez were the only two with experience hunting so Dean and Victor paired up with Rodriguez and her partner Avery to catch the bad guy.

As Dean approaches, Rodriguez zeros in on his ash coated clothes. Gabriel seems to have repaired a lot of the damage from the heat and the shrapnel, but apparently, he couldn’t be bothered to clean them as well. No doubt she’s heard about the explosion by now and her frown turns worried.

Dean tries not to feel self-conscious about her scrutiny or the stares that he can feel on his back as he meets her up on the porch. “Hey Rodriguez, long time, no see.”

“Close call?” she asks, ignoring his attempt at small talk.

For a moment, he’s back in that garage, shrapnel embedding itself into his back, his lungs, while his body roasts alive and Cas screams in agony under him. He blinks and once again, he’s out in the sunshine, study wood under his boots, and Rodriguez getting her answer from whatever look is on his face.

“Too close,” is all he says. He doesn’t need to elaborate. Anyone who’s been in this job for any length of time has had their fair share and then some of “too close” calls. Rodriguez herself almost got skinned alive last time she and Dean worked a case together. She knows what it means to kiss death and barely escape with your life.

Because she’s a saint, Rodriguez doesn’t pry and lets him deflect, charging onward with a brief and mostly true account of their morning. He gets through to the part about leaving the hospital when raised voices from in the house bring their conversation to an abrupt end.

It’s a testament to his rotten morning that he’s already removing his weapon before his hand reaches the door handle, but once he has the door open and recognizes the voices as belonging to Cas and Gabe, he holsters his gun with a put-upon sigh. Rodriguez on his heels, he leads the way through the kitchen to the living room.

He nearly trips over his own feet as he enters the front room and sees Cas, scowly-faced and bare-chested, squared off in front of a strangely solemn Gabriel. Dean tries to focus on the argument rather than how buff Cas is without his frumpy clothes and his mysterious lack of tan lines despite his obviously sun-kissed skin.

“Put it back,” Cas snarls through clenched teeth. He hardly spares Dean a glance, instead pointing at his lower ribs. Bizzare… Gabriel wouldn’t- Nah. What would he want one of his adopted brother’s ribs for?

“You’re safer-,”

Castiel cuts him off. “ _ Bullshit _ . They can find me now. What if they’re still out there looking and the only thing protecting me was that tattoo.  _ Put. It. Back! _ ”

“Just pray and I’ll come fight them off. Piece of cake!”

“Pray? To you? Not likely.”

Gabriel flinches.

“Fight who off?” Dean butts in.

They ignore him. “Okay,” Gabriel says. “So maybe don’t think of it as praying. It’s more like making a phone call in your head.” Cas isn’t convinced. “Or, I mean, if you don’t like the idea of me dropping everything to come to your rescue, you could just get your Grace back and-,”

Cas goes stiff and if Dean thought he looked angry before, it’s nothing to how he looks now. “I’ll get a new tattoo.”

Grace? Are they talking about angels? Is Cas on the run from angels as well as their shooter? Dean and Rodriguez trade glances and Dean eyes Gabriel more critically. He’s never met an angel before and Gabriel isn’t what he’s pictured, but it fits with the things Dean has seen him do. But what did he mean about Cas getting his grace? Does that mean Cas is an angel too? A de-powered angel?

“Oh come on, Cassie!” Gabriel loses his composure. “I don’t get why you won’t even think about this.”

“There’s nothing to think about. I made a choice to be human! I don’t want to go back to being a cold unfeeling murder machine!”

Spots of color appear on Gabriel’s cheeks. “You loved being an angel! So stop being a stubborn asshole and-,”

“How would you know anything about my ‘feelings’ as an angel?” Castiel scoffs, displaying the most facetious finger quotes Dean has ever seen.

“Because I remember!” The lights flicker and Cas flinches hard. Dean’s hand rests on his gun. With a deep breath, Gabriel visibly reins in his emotions. “I remember you before I fell. You totally bought the whole Agents of God thing, hook, line, and sinker. You loved humans because God told you to, not because you wanted to be one. It was your purpose.”

Cas opens his mouth, then closes it and shakes his head. “What do you mean, ‘hook, line, and sinker’ and why would I choose to fall if I loved being an angel so much?”

Gabriel grins darkly. “Take a fucking look around, Castiel. Dad abandoned us all centuries ago! Why do you think I left?” He runs a frustrated hand through his hair and shoots Dean a dirty look. Like hell, Dean is going to walk away now. As far as he’s concerned this is need-to-know information and since he’s in charge of keeping Cas alive he needs to know. Also, damn. He called it. God’s a deadbeat.

“You fell after me, so I don’t know for sure, but I asked your BFF Hannah-,”

“Hannah?”

Gabriel smiles sardonically. “You wouldn’t remember her. Anyway, she said you told her you were going to become human so you could come to Earth and find me and convince me to come home and fix things in Heaven.”

“What’s wrong in heaven?” Dean asks, but they continue to ignore him.

Castiel frowns. “Why would I do that if I like being an angel? Why not simply take a vessel?”

“Because you’re a goody-two-shoes? How should I know?”

“But how would I remember to look for you? Or remember to come back? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Just… shut up! The point is, you didn't want to be human. You didn’t fall so you could be human. You fell for Heaven. So I don’t get why you won’t come back. Humans are already so damn fragile and now some crazy bitch is  _ actively trying to kill you! _ ”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that! The only reason you’re not a smear of charcoal in the bottom of a parking garage is because I was there! Your stubbornness is going to get you killed and it’s really gonna piss me off when I have to fight off a reaper for your piddly little human soul. They already don’t like me.”

“You could do that?” Dean asks.

“If I die, you let me die.”

Gabriel and Dean both turn to looks at Cas sharply.

“Fat chance. Do you know why I fell, Cas? I lost faith. I was tired of watching the in-fighting and getting dragged into the drama so I left. Ran away until the apocalypse failed and they decided to board up heaven. I was tired of remembering. I was tired of knowing. I wanted to forget, to drop the burden of being an archangel and maybe live a simple life until my own reaper came for me. I never imagined once that I would take my Grace back, that I would want it.

“Do you know why I decided I wanted to be an angel again? You, Cas. You gave me faith again-something I never imagined could happen in a million years, let alone a few decades. Knowing you-knowing you were an angel-it made me think that you were the standard. That angels would be like  _ you _ .” Gabriel laughs without humor. “You’re the best of us and it’s a damn crime that those winged jackalopes are angels and you’re not.”

Cas’s face is blank. Dean can’t tell what he’s thinking and judging by Gabriel’s resurfacing frustration, he can’t either.

“I need to pee,” he finally says without inflection.

Gabriel throws his arms over his head. “You know what? Fine! Stay human. Stay pissed at me. I don’t care. I’m still your brother. I’m still going to look out for you and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Gabriel vanishes, leaving the house holding its breath. After several moments Cas exhales and rubs his hands over his face before he turns to Dean, hovering alone in the entryway to the room. When did Rodriguez leave?

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Dean doesn’t even have the good grace to try and look ashamed for having butted in and can’t work up the wherewithal to keep the blatant curiosity off his face. A fallen angel? You don’t run into one of those every day. Or maybe you do. Maybe they’re a lot more common than Dean ever considered. And what about the angels Cas thinks are after him? What’s all that about and how can they defend against them? That brings him back to that tattoo. Cas definitely needs his back, whatever it is and depending on what it is, maybe they should make it part of the hunter package along with the anti-possession tattoo. He can ask about that surely…

“Right, okay, but uh, about that tattoo-,”

“Dean,” Victor strides into the room, phone still pressed against his ear and a familiar glint in his eye. “Charlie’s got something.”

“Already?” Dean asks, an old thrill tickling his chest. The thrill of the hunt. He didn’t think he was able to get excited about the Colt again. “That was fast.”

Victor shrugs. “It’s Charlie.” True. “We need to get back. Wrap things up in here. I’ll be in the car.”

Without a second glance, Victor goes back out the way he came.

“You’re not staying?” Cas asks, still shirtless and apparently not even a little bit bothered about it.

“Can’t, man. Got a murderer to catch.” Cas’s face falls and Dean rushes to add. “But if you need anything, let Rodrigue-, uh Ginny know and she’ll get it for you.”

“Ginny?”

Dean turns, but she doesn’t appear over his shoulder. “She’ll be around,” he promises. “You can’t miss her. Hispanic. Big…” He motions to his chest and gets a rough slap on the back of his head. His hand flies to the smarting spot and he whirls around. There she is, hands on her hips and a scowl on her face.

“Don’t,” is all she says.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She purses her lips but apparently decides to let him live and turns to Cas. “I’m Ginny. You need anything, you let me know, okay?”

“Alright.” Cas doesn’t look happy, but there’s nothing Dean do about it and even if he could, he wouldn’t. He'd rather be out hunting than here playing defense. He doesn’t have the patience.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Rodriguez asks.

“Uh, right. See ya, Cas.”

Cas doesn’t say anything, but Dean feels his eyes on his back all the way out the door.

.

~*~

.

“What do you have, Charlie?”

Charlie spins around from her desktop and her gaze is immediately drawn to the ash still coating Dean’s clothes. He really needs to change. Charlie lifts hurt eyes up to his and he holds up his palms in a gesture of passivity.

“I’m okay. Really. Not even a scratch, okay?”

“Sam and Claire were here earlier,” she says quietly. “I’m supposed to call them.”

“I’m  _ fine _ .”

“Jo’s on her way back from Brazil.”

“Jesus. What was she doing there?”

“Boi tatá.”

“What?”

“Like a basilisk with horns.”

“ _ Jesus _ . Did she kill it?”

Charlie shrugs. “Didn’t ask.”

Dean sighs. “And Benny?” They might ask well get through the whole list.

“He’s an hour out. Had to finish his shift, but it’s his 48 off so he’s good for a little while.”

Dean scrubs a hand down his face. You know it’s trouble when the firefighter is willing to drive eight hours from South Carolina after working a 72-hour shift just to check in on your sorry ass.

“Okay, well everyone can just calm down and go back to what they were doing because I’m  _ fine _ .”

Charlie’s lower lip trembles. “We thought you were dead.” Her voice cracks and Dean’s resolve to keep everyone at arm’s length goes with it.

“C’mere,” he says, arms open. She stumbles out of her chair and falls against his chest, holding on tight. He matches the strength of her grip.

“I’m okay,” he promises. Charlie sniffles and clutches him tighter. “I’m okay.”

He holds her until Victor comes in with coffee and an uncomfortable slant to his mouth.

“Did I lollygag long enough?” he asks doubtfully.

Charlie disengages from their embrace and wipes at her face as she nods. She doesn’t say anything as she pries a coffee out of the carrier in Victor’s hands, but she pats his cheek fondly before returning to her desk.

Dean reaches for a coffee next, his bones like lead under his skin. The day is only half over, but it feels like it’s been stretching on forever.

Victor pulls the carrier out of his reach and says teasingly, “I thought you already had your two cups.”

Dean stares blankly until his conversation with Cas this morning trickles to the forefront of his brain. Was that only this morning?

“Shut up.” Dean snatches free a cup. “And stop eavesdropping.”

“Stop leaving your mic on.”

Dan mimics him mockingly and makes a mental note to grab a new one while they’re at HQ.

“How was the trip to the whore house? Oh wait, it’s not quite three, is it? Would you settle for taking me instead since Cas isn’t here?”

Dean snorts and takes a long pull of his coffee as Charlie starts opening windows on her screens.

“I couldn’t tell if he was tuning me out or if he didn't give a damn about what I said. The guy is a brick wall.”

“Who?” Charlie asks.

“Cas- er, Castiel. The witness. Half the time I can’t tell if he has a really dry sense of humor or no sense of humor at all.”

Not that they’ve been in any circumstance to find out. Everytime Dean’s been around him there’s some shit going down or that just went down. Even the first time they met, back before Crowley was killed. Dean hasn’t exactly been cracking jokes either. Maybe that’s all it is… But then again, Dean gets the feeling Cas is usually pretty reserved. It’s probably all the yelling at Gabriel that’s more out of character than the stoicism. Or maybe it’s an angel thing.

Dean thinks of Gabriel and immediately dismisses the theory.

“So this is what I found.” Charlie straightens in her seat in a way Dean knows means he should be sitting down for this. “I started by trying to start at the beginning and trace it to now, but that turned out to be a huge spider web I don’t have time to untangle. The gist of it is that Colt used the Colt at least four times before-,”

“Six,” Dean mutters reflexively.

Charlie squints at him over her shoulder.

“It was six, trust me.” Charlie continues her stare-down until Dean sighs. “Vampire in ‘35, that was the first test run. Ghost, also in 35. We think he wanted to see if it worked on incorporeal, already technically dead things. It did. Skinwalker in ‘37. Demon in ‘42. Wendigo in ‘48 and then nothin’ until he capped a-,”

“Phoenix is 1861,” he and Charlie say in sync. Charlie frowns at her notes. “I dismissed the vampire and the ghost. I figured they were too small to waste such a valuable, but limited supply of bullets on.”

Dean nods. He’d thought the same thing. If he only had 13 bullets in a gun that could kill anything, he’d make sure to save them for stuff he actually needs them for.

“Dad figured he started small just in case it didn’t work. Didn’t want to go pokin’ at something too big to handle in case it didn’t work.”

Charlie pouts. “That makes sense, I guess.

“Anyway,” Dean prompts.

“So, I gave up on trying to find out what happened to it after he used it on the Phoenix. I spent  _ hours _ and couldn’t find  _ anything _ , but whatever. I got frustrated and on a whim searched the database for anything involving antique guns and viola!” She blows up a window so it takes up the whole screen, but Dean and Victor still need to lean in to read it. It looks like a case file.

“What are we looking at Charlie?” Victor is the one to ask, not wanting to read the whole damn thing any more than Dean is.

“This is the case report of one Daniel Elkins who failed to register a supernatural artifact in his possession about a year ago. Care to guess what it was?”

“No way,” Dean breathes, fingers tingling. Shit. He’s gotta call Sam. He’s gotta-

“Bam!” A picture of an old Colt Peterson fills the screen, long-nosed and silver with intricate detail work on the metal and a rough pentagram carved into the handle. An engraving on the barrel reads, “Non timebo mala,” and five bullets rest beside it.

“I will fear no evil,” Dean whispers. “Holy shit, Charlie. You did it. You found the Colt!  _ The _ Colt!”

_ It’s here. _

“Well,” Charlie says despite the huge grin on her face. She pulls up another report. “I found where it  _ was _ . Apparently, it was stolen from our supernatural archive a couple months ago.”

“By who?” Victor asks. He gives Dean a look and Dean is reminded that they’re here for a case, not a treasure hunt… and also that the gun is obviously not here since it was just used to kill a federal judge last night. _Get it together Winchester_.

“I was looking into that when you guys got here. Check it out.” She pulls open an attachment to the case file and six faces stare back at them. “This is an open case, but these are the suspects. Does anyone look familiar?”

“Her,” Victor says, poking his finger against Charlie’s screen and eliciting a scowl from her. Dean leans in closer and sure enough, the woman under Victor’s finger is a dead ringer for the woman Cas described to the sketch artist.

“What’s her name?” Dean asks.

“They have her in here as Bela Talbot, but get this!” She’s been spending too much time with Sammy. “In the notes, it says she has a British accent so I asked a friend in the U.K. to do a quick search and we got about 30 different first name matches, but only one matched a birth certificate. Meet Annie Talbot. Her parents died in a car accident when she was 17. She inherited their fortune a year later and vanished off the map.

“Interestingly, one of the few things we know about her, thanks to Crowley, is that she sold her soul. Read into it however you’d like, but as an aside, the anniversary of her parents’ death is today.”

“You think she killed her parents?” Victor asks.

“She spent a little time in a foster home before she turned 18 and the foster mom suspected she’d been sexually abused but she wouldn’t admit to it.”

“Her parents were dead though,” Victor says. “If  one of them was doing something to her, wouldn’t their deaths allow her to talk about it or at least tell somebody?”

“Not if she killed them,” Dean says. “No one would suspect her if she let them think they were a loving family. What I wanna know, is what does Crowley have to do with her selling her soul?”

“Oh this is where it gets interesting,” Charlie says.

“Wasn’t it already?” Victor sighs under his breath.

“Crowley was the prosecutor that put her sister in prison for life, back before he became a judge.”

“Wait, what? She has a sister?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, yeah. Sister name Beatrice. Anyway, they found sulfur at the scene of the accident so they opened up a murder investigation. Looks like little Annie was kept in the dark. She didn’t even know it was happening until the sentencing. The long and short of it is that Crowley’s evidence was the contract Beatrice signed, selling her soul. She pled guilty; case open and shut.

“Wait.” Victor rubs his forehead. “So the sister killed the parents?”

“She was convicted for it and got a life sentence. She didn’t even try to make a plea deal. Highly unusual is you ask me.”

“Not if she wasn’t going to be able to talk them down to less than ten years anyway,” Dean points out.

“True,” Charlie admits. “And that’s kinda what I thought, but then what did Annie sell her soul for? Her sister is still in prison so it wasn’t to free her or clear her name. She was already stupid wealthy from receiving her parents’ full inheritance. I can’t find any medical records about a terminal illness and she doesn’t live a lifestyle that allows her to make friends or fall in love so… what else is there?”

“...right.” Dean and Victor trade confused glances.

“How do we know she sold her soul?”

“We got access to Crowley’s files for the investigation and her name was in a handy Excel spreadsheet titled ‘Incoming Souls’. Can you guess what the date next to her name was? That’s right.  _ Today _ . A.K.A. the ten year anniversary of her parents’ deaths.”

“So… so Crowley lied? Why would he do that?” Victor asks.

“What’s the date next to her sister’s name? Or is she even on the list?” Dean asks.

Charlie smirks and doesn’t need to consult the spreadsheet to answer his questions. “Beatrice Talbot’s time is up in a little over two months. I think Beatrice made a deal with Crowley to save Annie and that’s why the whole trial thing was kept hush-hush so Annie couldn’t screw things up by confessing.”

“So they both sold their souls?” Victor says, looking a little windswept.

“Yup,” Charlie says, popping the ‘P’ and looking pleased with herself. “And today’s D-Day for Annie so after midnight we shouldn’t have to worry about our witnesses’ safety anymore because the hellhounds will have come to collect.”

“Huh,” Dean says. It’s all so succinct and clean and not at all reflective of this case so far. “Well, I guess we should get Annie’s picture to Rodriguez so she can show Cas a lineup and see if he IDs her. You sure her time is up today?”

“Positive,” Charlie says but pulls up the spreadsheet anyway. She has it filtered so only two names are visible. “Annie Talbot, 04/29/18 - Lilith” and “Beatrice Talbot, 06/03/18 - Me.”

“Huh,” Dean and Victor say in unison, peering over Charlie’s shoulders.

“Can you send a line-up to Rodriguez?” Dean asks.

“Consider it done.”

“Great. You’re the best and uh… I’m really sorry about the scare this morning. Really. I’ll make it up to you guys.”

Charlie spins around to face him with a smirk. “You can start by letting Benny and Jo stay at your place. Sam already has Claire and me and Dorothy like our privacy.”

“That’s not fair,” Dean complains. Benny, Dean can handle. He’s going to accept Dean’s apology and offer him a beer and they’ll move on. Jo is going to be a nightmare.

“Those are my terms, Deano. Take ‘em or leave ‘em.”

“Ugh. Fine.”

“Yay! Dorothy will be so happy.”

Dean pulls a face at her. “Whatever. I probably won’t get home until late anyway. I’ve got a report to write.”

“I’m sure they still have their keys,” Charlie waves the concern away.

“Speaking of reports,” Victor says, “Will you send everything you’ve got to me? I’ll get it put together and sent up the food chain.”

“Sure thing! Have a good night, fellas!”

Dean and Victor trudge out the door, grateful that they at least have coffee. They’re going to need it.

.

**Castiel**

.

It’s been six hours since Castiel arrived at the safe house and he’s bored out of his skull. Gabriel pops in a couple times, but he ignores him until he gives up and leaves. It doesn’t take long. Gabriel is used to being the center of attention and Castiel has nothing to say to him until he either puts his warding tattoo back or teleports him to a tattoo parlor.

He’s not even sure why he’s here. Hours ago, only a couple hours after Dean left, Ginny showed him six photos on her tablet and Cas recognized the shooter. Ginny assured him that he likely doesn’t have to worry about further attacks because the shooter will be dead in a few hours thanks to an expiring demon deal. Dead shoot means no case and, more importantly, no threat to Castiel.

But Ginny said they need to make sure. They’ve got their best scryers searching, but until they find her, dead or alive, they have to assume he’s in danger regardless of what their intel says.

Garbage.

He can’t even talk her into letting him call his neighbor to check in on his cat or to stand on the porch for some fresh air. He’s a prisoner.

“I had someone bring you some more books.” Ginny interrupts his melancholy thoughts by dropping a box of paperbacks onto the coffee table beside his socked feet. He’s tempted to turn up his nose out of spite, but he’s so unbelievably bored.

He picks up the book on top only to drop it again after he takes in the flames crawling over the front cover. The memory of being burned alive is still fresh. He knows he’ll be having nightmares for weeks, possibly months, maybe forever. He wonders if Dean is having trouble as well.

“I was thinking lasagna for dinner, how does that sound?”

Cas doesn’t bother to answer. He knows regardless of what he says, they’re having lasagna. It’s been the meal plan since whenever they stocked this place. He doesn’t know when that happened, but judging by the hastily wiped dust he keeps finding, he’s guessing it was long before Crowley was shot. He also knows Ginny will continue to talk whether he engages or not.

Sure enough, she continues.

“We only have the frozen kind, but it’s pretty good. I told Tracey to get the kind with pepperonis in it, but of course, she didn’t. This kind is good too, though,” she hastens to add. “But the pepperoni one is my favorite.”

She lapses into silence, watching Castiel half-heartedly dig through the more books. It looks like they went to Goodwill and grabbed a box at random.

“Are you always like this?”

Castiel looks up from the book in his hand. “Pardon?” He can’t tell whether he should be insulted or not.

Ginny is looking him in the eye. “I’m trying to figure you out. Are you always this quiet and withdrawn or is this what trauma looks like on you?”

Castiel studies her. “I prefer listening over speaking.”

“But you  _ are _ listening?” she prompts.

“I am,” Castiel says.

She eyes him critically for a moment before appearing to take him at his word. He returns to his books.

“In that case…” she trails off when Castiel was sure she was about to continue their rambling one-sided conversation. He looks up curiously and finds her frowning thoughtfully.

Finally, she smiles, somewhat embarrassed. “Tell me if I’m out of line, but I’m curious. You didn't seem too happy to see Dean leave. How come?”

“Why would I be happy to see Dean go?”

Ginny grins. “Have you seen that boy’s backside?” She laughs at Castiel’s befuddled expression. “Nevermind, that’s not what I meant to ask. How come you wanted him to stay? I mean, Dean great, a little rough around the edges but his heart’s in the right place. Usually, his personality doesn’t sit right with people right off the bat. I’ve seen people so overcome with relief when they find out they won’t be stuck with him for months while their trials process that they need to sit down. What happened with the two of you? He said it was close.”

For a moment, Castiel is there again. The air is on fire, his skin turns tough and black over his bones. His lungs scream for air and the heavy body on top of him goes limp, deadweight.

He blinks and finds Ginny’s hand over his where he’s crumpling the book in his hands from clutching it so hard. He purposefully relaxes his grip one finger at a time and shifts away so she takes her hand back.

“We should be dead,” he says with finality. A simple truth. They died in that parking garage and if it wasn’t for Gabriel, they would have stayed that way. Then again, if Gabriel hadn’t been there in the first place, Castiel wouldn’t have charged ahead against Dean’s orders and they would have been fine… Probably. Assuming Dean would have found the explosive, they would have been fine.

Castiel reflects back to the night before (was that only yesterday?) and recalls Dean’s steady hands over his as he helped him wash away Gabriel’s blood. He remembers Dean’s poorly concealed frustration at being left out of the manhunt. He thinks about Dean’s grim vigilance while they walked away from the hospital, flames still heavy on both of their minds.

He would have found it, Castiel decides. Has he not foolishly ignored Dean’s warnings and rush ahead, Dean would have found the bomb and they would have been fine.

“Hey,” Ginny breaks Castiel out of his thoughts. “You’re alive and that’s what’s important. ‘Should’ doesn’t mean anything.”

Castiel frowns. “Should” holds more weight than most believe but then again, most don’t truly believe in fate or destiny so that’s hardly surprising. Funny, since the common public has accepted the existence of demons and angels.

He opens his mouth to point this out, but then the backdoor crashes open with a sharp bang. He and Rodriguez jump to their feet and a fair-haired man in a rumpled shirt and torn jeans strides into the room, seemingly oblivious to the upset he caused. Rodriguez relaxes and Castiel cautiously tasks his cue from her.

“Gin, take a look at this!” He hardly glances at Castiel and hurries across the room with some sort of bulky device in his hand. “It went off the chart just a moment ago.”

He hands the device to Ginny and Castiel curiously peers at it over her shoulder. There’s a simple dial with a needle on the face of it. He can’t tell what it’s supposed to be measuring, but the needle is all the way at the far end in the red and holding steady.

“Is it broken?” Ginny asks.

The man shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I had it on along with a few other things to see if they’d pick up anything next time Gabriel comes back and it was normal for about half an hour before this happened.”

“What does it measure?” Castiel asks. Since he brought up Gabriel he figures he has the right to ask.

The man turns to him with the kind of excitement one gets when talking about their passions. “It detects angels.”

Castiel goes stiff. The man keeps talking, babbling something about frequencies and energy emittance, but Castiel doesn’t hear him over the panic building behind his skull or the high-pitched ringing in his ears… It is in his head, right? It must be because both Ginny and the man seem unaffected.

“Is Gabriel here?” he manages to ask through numb lips.

“Nope!” He looks delighted. “Not unless he’s invisible or something.”

“We need to get out of here,” Castiel blurts, fully panicking now. They found him. Without his warding, he’s a sitting duck.  _ Damn _ _Gabriel_.  _ Damn him _ .

In his head, he curses Gabriel colorfully and at length while also demanding he get here before people get hurt. When he doesn’t immediately appear he says, “You need to run.”

He stares hard at both U.S. Marshalls while they stare back, incredulous.

“ _ Now _ .”

“You think the shooter is an angel?” Ginny asks.

“What?” Castiel asks, failing to grasp her train of thought. “No! This has nothing to do with- We’re wasting time. Run if you want to live. Get as far away from me as you can. They will kill you!”

“Angels doesn’t kill people,” Ginny says.”

“They’re the good guys,” the man agrees with a nod.

Castiel stares. “Who told you- They’re  _ warriors _ . They could kill us all like  _ that _ .”

He snaps his fingers and in the same instant, the man disappears in a fine pink spray that washes over Castiel’s face. He flinches back, closing his eyes reflexively and feels wet chunks hitting his front. It’s over in a moment.

He opens his eyes and stares in horror at the place the man stood only a second ago. He can taste blood in his mouth, coating his tongue.

“Avery?” Ginny is covered head to toe in pink and globs of meat stick to her shirt and pants and fall to the carpet below. Castiel can’t drag his eyes away from the starburst pattern that flares out from where Avery stood.

Ginny covers her mouth with her hand.

“That wasn’t me,” Castiel chokes, slowly lowering his hand and clenching his fingers into a fist. “I didn’t-,”

Where the fuck is Gabriel?

“Where is he?” Ginny asks, looking around the room at the walls, the floor, the couch, the ceiling. Nothing is unscathed. Castiel watches the realization dawn on her face.

“Avery?” she repeats in a hoarse whisper.

Castiel shakes his head and takes a step away from her. “I’m sorry. You need to run. Get out of here.  _ Now! _ ”

“I don’t understand.”

The back door opens, out of sight, but Castiel can hear the latch release and then hurried footsteps heading their way.

“No,” he says. He feels faint.

“Rodriguez,” an agent he’s seen around but hasn’t spoken to hurries into the room, her red hair tied back in a neat french braid. She freezes in the doorway and stares at them covered head to toe in gore. “Shit. The intruder breached the house. Everyone bring in the perimeter. I need-,”

“No!” Castiel and Ginny both yell. The redhead explodes. Castiel flinches back as a wet chunk of  _ something _ smacks into his cheek.

“Call them off,” he chokes. “Tell them to stay away.”

Ginny holds his eye for a long moment and then nods. “Everyone fall back. The situation is-  _ Ah! _ ” She flinches and rips the earbud out of her ear. Castiel can hear the high pitched ring emanating from it even from two feet away.

The back door opens again.

“Oh no,” Ginny says.

“Stop them.”

It’s too late.

Three agents run into the room, weapons drawn. The first two rip apart at the seams as they cross the threshold of the room.

“STOP!” Castiel shrieks, covering his ears and flinching away from the spray. The third careens to a halt, teetering at the edge.

He needs to get away from these people he needs to run. He needs-

He turns towards the front door, ready to bolt, but Ginny reaches for him. He flinches back and she does the same, hesitation on her face. Even she can’t deny everything happening is because of him.

“I need to go,” Castiel croaks, his breathing tight and fast. “They’ll kill you all. I have to run.”

Fire lights in Ginny’s eyes. “Like hell, I’m letting you go by yourself. My job is to protect you. I’m gonna-,” She lays a hand on his shoulder and doesn’t get the chance to finish before her brain matter is coating the walls, splattering her teammate and completely drenching Castiel in a shower of blood and muscle tissue. The last U.S. Marshall turns wild terrified eyes onto Castiel before turning to run and promptly erupting in a spray of pink.

A sob claws its way out of Castiel’s throat and he covers his face with his hands. Pain lances through his skull and he falls to his knees, spitting out blood that doesn’t belong to him. A shiver wracks through his entire body as his knees grow damp through his red soaked jeans. He crawls into the small shelter afforded by the end of the couch and huddles against the wall.

Between his ears, there’s a high-pitched keening ring. His hands move of their own accord, tracing through the muck coating the wall until a sigil forms beneath his finger. He slams his palm over the sigil and is enveloped in a flash of burning pure white.

Only once the light fades, does he realize the keening isn’t in his head. His scream cuts off, only to be replaced by a sob as he sits alone in the sudden silence. Something drips off the ceiling onto the top of his head. When he realizes there’s no one left to enters the house he sobs.


	5. Chapter 5

“I can’t get ahold of anyone at the house.”

Dean’s head snaps up. “What?”

Victor checks his weapon and holsters it. “Last I talked to Rodriguez was five hours ago when Cas confirmed our perp. No one’s answering now. Let’s go.”

Dean curses and shoves aside his half-written report, following on Victor’s heels out the door of their little office. The sprint to the dark SUV Victor prefers and Dean only flinches a little when he wrenches the door open without checking the vehicle.

Nothing explodes.

He jumps into the passenger seat and belts in as Victor peels out of the secured parking lot, lights and sirens blaring. Dean curses again as he remembers it’s a two-hour drive from D.C. to the farm.

He spends the first hour of that drive on the phone. He tries Ginny first and it rings and rings before going to voicemail. He tries Avery second and sits through five rings before he gives up and starts calling for backup. He doesn’t know what they’re walking into and he’s damn tired of being caught with his pants around his ankles.

He toys with the idea of calling Charlie or Benny and giving them a heads up that it’s going to be another long night but tucks his phone into his pocket instead. He can’t pretend everything is fine right now. He’ll make apologies again later. For now, he needs to focus on getting to Cas.

When he does, when they pull into the long unpaved driveway, the hairs on the back of his neck and his arms all stand on end. Something is very very wrong. He knows Victor can tell too by the way he stiffens next to him, his head on a swivel.

It’s deserted. There’s no guard on the back porch, no one on the perimeter, nothing. He and Victor trade looks and Victor signals that he’ll check the perimeter. That leaves Dean with the house. Dean nods and removes his gun from the holster and clicks off the safety. Victor does the same and they both pop open their doors as quietly as possible and slip out of the car without closing up behind them. It’s not possible to silently close a car door.

“Be careful,” Dean murmurs before Victor can slink off. His partner nods tersely and heads for the barn first. Dean waits until he’s out of sight before he takes a breath and approaches the back door, not sure what he’ll find inside, but absolutely certain he’s not prepared for it.

The air is heavy with silence as he eases open the door on well-oiled hinges, not even the birds stuck around it seems. A waft of metallic, decrepit air greets him and his stomach rolls. He softly guides the door closed behind him, knowing he’s walking into a crime scene with at least one body, more than likely, the body of a friend.

The smell gets stronger the further across the kitchen he creeps and by the time he nears the hall he can see blood splatters that sprayed from the living room. It’s a lot. He pauses to collect himself before he takes the final steps across the worn wood of the hallway and onto the carpet of the living room.

He blinks and for a moment reality warps around him. Has this room always been so… pink? 

He blinks again and nausea pools in his gut. He presses the back of his free hand to his mouth. It’s blood. A  _ lot _ of blood. Bile climbs the back of his throat as he identifies what looks like a wet mass of blood-soaked hair stuck to the ceiling fan, but he forces it back down.

The worst part is how familiar it all looks. Dean’s seen this before. Not in person, but in crime scene photos. Everyone has taken a crack at the Lucifer case files at least once, but no one’s managed to find the guy. He’s an assassin and a damn good one. The only evidence he leaves behind is well… this.

A muffled sob breaks the silence and Dean nearly jumps out of his skin. He has his gun tagged on the source in an instant and then lowers it just as quickly.

It’s  _ Cas _ .

How the hell did he survive all of this? Lucifer never,  _ never _ , leaves survivors.  _ How the hell _ …

Dean takes a step forward and the carpet squelches under his boot, red pooling up around his foot. Cas doesn’t so much as flinch at the sound. Somehow, in all of this death, Cas sits seemingly unharmed, huddled in a ball on the floor with his eyes screwed shut and his hands over his ears… Completely drenched in blood and blown up bits of other people.  _ Dean’s friends. _

It’s easy to understand why Dean missed him at first glance. He blends in.

Dean approaches him slowly, partly because Cas looks like he’s freaking the fuck out and partly because the closer Dean gets the more details he can make out and he needs the extra processing time.

His hair is plastered to his head with gore; face coated with a fine pink spray with great trails leaking from his hair down his cheeks, nose, and chin. His hands are stained solid red where they’re fisted over his ears. Chunks of flesh, bone, and wet globs of muscle tissue drip from his bare arms, his clothes, everything.

The wall behind him is oozing blood, most of it haphazard, but a strange sigil, hand-drawn in blood, stands out. Dean quickly snaps a picture with his phone before squatting next to Cas.

“Cas.” Dean tentatively lays a hand on his shoulder, but Cas flinches away violently with a shout. He loses his balance and catches himself against the wall then rips his hand stickily away from it with a shudder.

“Don’t touch me!” he shouts, voice raw. “Get away or you’ll die too!”

The fuck? Dean rocks back to standing upright and takes a step back

“Cas, it’s over. You’re safe now.”

Cas shakes his head so hard he sways. “No. they’re still out there,” he says. The words wrench themselves from between his lips on a shuddering breath. “They’re still out there.”

“Them?” Dean asks. “You saw what did this?” They are really sure Lucifer’s handiwork can be attributed to one guy, but they only have a couple grainy security tapes to go off of and they could easily be wrong. Besides, they still don’t know what this guy is, only that in the assassin world, he goes by Lucifer.

Cas shakes his head.

“But you know what it is? You know what did this?”

Cas freezes. He still hasn’t looked Dean in the eye. In fact, beneath the blood, he’s pale and trembling and his pupils are huge. Dude’s in shock and has been crouched here in all this for hours. But still… Dean’s gotta know what they’re up against. How to fight back. What might be out there with Victor right now.

“Cas, you gotta tell me what we’re dealing with here, man. You drew that sigil didn’t you? What’s it for?”

“Sigil?” Cas looks up for the first time and his gaze haltingly follows Dean’s to the bloody dripping squiggles and lines just above the baseboard.

“I… It must have been… I don’t remember.” He’s frowning, but his eyes are unfocused and it looks like a stiff breeze could knock him flat.

“What’s it for?” Dean repeats, letting the urgency play in his tone.

“Banishing.” The word falls from his lips, surprising them both.

“Banishing what?”

“I don’t… I don’t remember,” Cas mutters. His hand flutters to his ribs and Dean is hit with the striking memory of Cas and Gabriel’s argument this morning. His spit dries on his tongue and he squats down beside Cas again.

He looks like hell. Dean tries not to think about the fact that he’s looking at all that’s left of his friends and it’s surprisingly easy. It’s too surreal-too fucked up to think that all of this mess used to be real live people who could talk and had bad opinions about alcohol. It used to be his people.

“Was it angels, Cas?” Dean doesn’t know why he whispers it, but Cas shudders and closes his eyes, drawing in a shaky breath.

“Yes,” he whispers on the exhale. His tremors worsen and Dean is shaking right there with him. Fucking angels. What kind of defense can they put up against  _ angels _ ? This sigil is a start. The fact that Cas is alive is testament enough that it works. Testament enough that Dean sets himself to memorizing it the best he can with the inconvenient bloody handprint right in the middle of the thing.

“How do you know?” Dean asks, not to be a dick, but because he’s gotta be sure. Okay, and maybe because he really doesn’t want to believe it. If it was anything else, they would stand a chance but it had to be fucking angels.  _ Where the hell is Gabriel? _ Dean swallows thickly, wondering if maybe some of this blood belongs to him. If Gabriel’s dead, they are royally boned.

Has Lucifer really been an angel this whole time? It would explain why they’ve never been able to catch him. Why would an angel become an assassin?

The strongest shudder yet wracks through Cas’s body, strong enough that Dean puts a hand on his shoulder to keep him from falling over. Cas doesn’t flinch away this time. He stiffens at first contact but then relaxes into the touch.

“They… This is how they killed my parents.”

.

~*~

.

They wind up spraying Cas down with the garden hose that Dean is impressed they have. It feels like a cruel form of torture. The water has gotta be freezing this early in spring, but Cas keeps his head down and takes it. Dean has a harder time. He has to tamp down the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach every time he thinks about  _ who _ he’s rinsing from Cas’s hair.

Did that molar belong to Rodriguez? Was that stubborn hunk of flesh behind his ear part of Avery? Phillips was just a kid, but all the muck looks the same. Death doesn’t discriminate and shredded insides look like shredded insides whether you’re old enough to rent a car or not.

They finally finish and Dean hands Cas a pile of clothes to change into. Cas takes them, careful not to let their fingers brush even the slightest. It makes Dean irrationally angry. He wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him and scream:  _ Nothing is going to happen! The angels are gone! You get to live! You get to live! You get to walk away. _

Instead, he turns on his heels and goes around to the back side of the house to give him some privacy, but not too far since he and Victor are now the last two standing. Scratch that, he thinks as he notices a large dust cloud off in the distance, racing down the dirt road on the heels of a line of SUVs and dark Sedans.

“ _ Finally, _ ” Dean thinks with no small amount of bitterness. And at the same time, “ _ Too fucking late _ .”

He feels more than hears Victor come up to stand beside him, waiting to greet the ‘ _ Where were you three hours ago? _ ’ cavalry.

“You gotta get him out of here,” Victor says quietly enough that Cas won’t overhear them around the corner. “We don’t know what that sigil did or how long it’ll hold.”

Dean gave Victor the rundown shortly after he returned with nothing to report other than some weird red patches that smelled like blood but no bodies or blood trails leading away and a whole section of woods with trees ripped out of the ground at the roots in a starburst. He tried to convince him not to look in the house, but Victor insisted and when he came back out his face was ashen, but his jaw was set with determination.

“You coming?” Dean doesn’t like the idea of going solo against the best assassin they’ve ever gone up against, but Victor’s right. They’re in the hot zone and they need to get the hell out before anything returns for Round Two. That being said, somebody has to stay to brief the reinforcements and lead the investigation and there are only two of them.

“Not yet,” Victor says, and Dean’s stomach drops despite the expected answer. “I don’t like it either, but he doesn’t have the luxury of hanging around while we dance through all the red tape. I’ll check in with you when I’m done here.”

“Alright,” Dean agrees with a frown. “Should I take him to the Brownstone?” Even as he says it, he knows it’s a bad idea. It’s in town with lots of innocent civilians to get caught in the crossfire if something like this goes down again. As it is, they were damn lucky to contain the losses to their own. Dean scoffs.  _ Lucky _ .

“I think,” Victor says slowly, deliberately as he watches the dust cloud get closer, “You should take him somewhere  _ you _ know he’ll be safest.”

“What?”

Victor looks at him hard. “You were a hunter before all this. You’ve gotta have someplace you went to hole up when something nasty was on your tail. Someplace that’s warded to hell and back and even your daddy would have to pay in blood to get inside.”

“Well… Yeah, but nowhere that’s authorized-,”

Victor turns to face him fully with an incredulous smile and a hard glint in his eyes. “Who the hell  _ are _ you? The kid I knew when you first signed up wouldn’t’ve given what’s  _ authorized _ a passing thought before doing whatever he thought would keep people safe. I know we’re both old as fuck now, but is that kid still in there somewhere or what?”

That kid got people killed acting like that-a debt Dean is still working to pay-but he gets what Victor’s saying and flips him the bird. “You know damn well he is.” His mind is already churning through the options, but there’s only one real player as far as he’s concerned.

“Good. Don’t tell me where until you’re long gone. Plausible deniability and all that.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, okay. I’ll take the fall for your idea, as usual.”

Victor grins, all teeth. “Perks of seniority.”

Dean rolls his eyes and watches the line of SUVs approach the long driveway. He glances at the house, dark and ominous beside them.

“You be careful here, alright? Hit the road as soon as you can.”

“Same to you out there,” Victor replies. It seems neither one can find it in themselves to crack a joke or take the mickey. There were nine U.S. Marshals stationed at this house a few hours ago.

Dean claps Victor’s back and turns to go find Cas as the first car turns into the driveway. He about jumps out of his skin when he finds Cas dripping wet and shivering right behind him.

“Jesus  _ Christ!  _ Where the hell did you come from?”

Cas ignores the question. “You used to be a hunter?”

Dean swallows around his surprise and shrugs. “Yeah. And?”

“What do you know about angels?”

“Not enough,” Dean responds grimly.

Most of the hunting community is still struggling to accept their existence at all. Dean himself needed up close and personal proof before he finally hung up his naysayer's cap. Even then, it took about a month before he could wrap his brain around it enough to admit that anything. THen there’s the lore. Most of what they can find is garbage, watered down and twisted and turned to fit the bible rather than reality. Then, what’s left is still mostly theories and guesses. From what Dean can tell, angels didn’t bother with coming down to Earth for a long-ass time…

Not until 1983. Fuck if anybody can tell why, but that year all hell broke loose. Demons everywhere, angels taking vessels, and everything in-between crawling out of the deepest darkest cracks and corners of the world and fucking everything up. They stopped trying to hide and there’s only so much people can explain away or outright ignore. That was the year the world found out that the supernatural world exists and has been co-existing side-by-side with humanity since the beginning of forever.

Nobody knows why. Some crackpot hunters tried starting the rumor that it was the apocalypse, but that theory fell flat when the world failed to end. They claimed some hunter stopped it all by sacrificing herself, but that never held any water. What good would it have done? Why would everything stop because some cagey old hunter offed herself?

Dean never bothered to delve too hard into the why, what, or how of everything that happened that year. He was only four at the time and… well, he had enough that he was going through personally that the rest of the world could fuck itself for all he cared. It doesn’t really matter anyway. What’s passed it passed and one way or the other, they’ve got to find a way to live with it.

The hopes dies from Cas’s eyes with Dean’s response. He sighs. “Let’s get out of here. You got your stuff?”

“I put it in the car,” Victor says before Cas can even think about where he would need to go to get his things. He holds out the keys and Dean takes them with a frown of distaste. He hates driving anything except Baby and these jumped up grocery-getters aren’t even in the same class.

“If Charlie’s in one of those…” Dean trails off, but Victor understands.

With a significant look at Dean, he nods and strides off to go meet with the first Marshalls as they park and climb out of their cars, their expressions dark and wary.

Dean’s glad to be missing all of this. He hopes Dorothy and Charlie stay out of it, for their own sakes.

“Ready?” he asks.

Cas nods grimly and follows Dean to Victor’s stupid SUV. With Dan driving and Cas in the passenger seat, they bump and curl around the train of government vehicles blocking the driveway until finally, they reach the dirt road.

Dean makes a left.

“Where are we going?” Cas asks. He doesn’t seem concerned, or even curious, not really. More like he’s collecting information for the sake of having done it.

“South Dakota,” Dean says. Their best chance at keeping Cas alive rests in the same hands that kept Dean alive all those years ago in more ways than one. Those hands also have a pretty fucking impressive panic room so there’s that too.

Dean just hopes bringing this kind of trouble to Bobby’s doorstep isn’t a mistake.

.

~*~

.

Two hours later, Dean notices the silence. They’ve been driving in it this whole time, nothing but the highway under tires and the wind shrieking by, but Dean has been so immersed in his own thoughts that he only notices now-as he pulls himself out of thoughts of lost friends and forces himself to think about Cas. To think about the  _ case _ . That’s all this is, he reminds himself. It’s just another case. Sure, it seems impossible, insurmountable, completely out of his league, but that’s never stopped him before.

He’s almost surprised to find Cas awake when he glances over. He’s been so quiet. Then again, after today he probably won’t be getting any sleep for a long time. Neither will Dean, for that matter.

_ Matter. Brain matter. Blood. Hair. Flesh. Coating the walls, the ceiling, Cas. Saturated into the carpet. It bubbles up around his feet with a sickening slurp. _

He shakes his head and takes a breath. The case. He needs to focus on the case. He knows just where to start, where he should never have left off before running to hear what Charlie had to say about the Colt.

He clears his throat and pretends he doesn’t notice Cas flinch. “So, uh,” his voice cracks from lack of use so he clears it again and wets his lips before continuing, “about that tattoo.”

Cas turns away from his vigil out the windshield and stares at the side of Dean’s face. Dean glances over, making brief eye contact before looking out front again. He’s emotionless. Not a hint of emotion in his features. It makes guilt swell beneath his breastbone. The guy is in shock and Dean’s been sitting here ignoring him in favor of dwelling on his own issues.

“D’you remember what it looked like?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cas turn back to facing front. “In perfect detail,” he says without inflection.

Dean raises his eyebrows and chances another quick look. “Good! I mean, first things first, we gotta fit you out with a new one, right?”

Cas looks down at his hands folded primly in his lap. “Yes.”

Dean tries not to squirm in his seat. This is  _ so _ not his forte. Where’s Claire when you need her?

“You know it wasn’t your fault, right?” he blurts. Cas says nothing, lifting his head to stare out his window at the tall grass whipping by, only briefly illuminated by their headlights.

He swallows a sigh. That’s all he’s got. If he can’t convince himself that it wasn’t his own fault, he stands no chance of convincing anyone else of the same.

“I uh, there’s some napkins in the glove compartment and a Sharpie too, I think. You wanna sketch out that tattoo?”

Cas doesn’t respond verbally, but he opens the glove compartment and digs past the various insurance documents and oil change receipts until he finds a napkin with a red “DQ” printed across the face of it and a black permanent marker.

Satisfied, Dean turns his full attention back to the road. He doesn’t remember when the sun finally set, but it must have been hours ago. It’s a black, almost moonless night and the back highway they’re on doesn’t seem to get a lot of use. Dean’s going  _ well _ over the speed limit and hasn’t caught up to a single vehicle.

A sound of frustration pulls Dean’s attention back to the passenger seat where Cas now has marker smudges all over his hands and the napkin is completely illegible thanks to the ink bleeding all over.

Dean snorts and faces the road again. “Dude, just use one of those old receipts. We don’t need ‘em all anyway.”

Cas mutters something under his breath and crumples the napkin, dropping it to the floor, before fishing out a paper receipt instead. The silence returns, broken only by the soft scratching of marker on paper.

Dean drums his fingers against the steering wheel and considers turning on the radio, then decides against it.

“Where’s Gabriel?” he asks without warning. Cas stills in the seat beside him and doesn’t look up. “I mean, he promised he’d show if you were in trouble and you… prayed or whatever, so what gives? Did he not show? You did pray, right?”  _ He wasn’t one of those bloody smears in the living room, was he? _ Dean does  _ not _ ask.

Castiel carefully caps the marker. “I did and he did not.”

Dean scowls at the horizon. It seems completely out of character for Gabriel to leave Cas high and dry. As far as Dean can tell, Cas is pretty much Gabriel’s reason to keep going.

“D’you think he’s dead?” he asks before he can think better of it. Cas seems unfazed though.

“If he’s not, he’s going to wish he was.”

Dean huffs a laugh and sneaks a peek at Cas, expecting to see some of the quiet fury he can make out in his tone; instead, he finds poorly concealed worry.

“Hey man, he’s an angel.” Cas turns to look at him and Dean reluctantly turns back to the road. “I’m sure he’s- OH SHIT!”

He swerves around the man that just appeared in the road in front of them. Dean only gets a momentary impression-average height, average build, white, blond hair, light-colored eyes- before the front passenger tire slips off the pavement and trips in the dirt. The next thing he knows, the airbags have deployed and they’re upside down and rolling. The passenger side windows blow out, raining glass over both of them.

It’s all Dean can do to hold onto the steering wheel, for all the good it does, until they stop, miraculously upright.

He takes his first breath in what feels like hours and immediately falls into a coughing fit, shoving at the airbag in his face until it falls away. Once he catches his breath, he reaches over to pull aside the passenger airbag to check on Cas. He’s unconscious, a deep red welt already starting to form over his collarbone and shoulder to where the seatbelt kept him from flying out of the car.

Dean holds his breath and presses two fingers to his neck. It takes a moment for him to calm down enough to notice, but there’s a steady pulse under his fingertips. He releases a shaky breath and lets his head fall onto Cas’s shoulder where he immediately picks up a sliver of glass.

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters, feeling his face. He finds not one sliver of glass, but several. His hands come away bloody. He’s covered in glass, but Cas glitters with it. He’s also got blood running down his cheek from his hairline. Probably another head injury. “Son of a  _ bitch _ ,” he repeats with more feeling.

Movement outside the car catches his attention. He has to turn his entire upper body to look out the window, his neck is already stiff. The man from the road is walking towards them. Walking. Not in a hurry, or even concerned. Actually, as he gets closer, Dean realizes he’s  _ smiling _ .

The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and goosebumps break out over his arms. The closer the man gets, the heavier the air feels, like when Gabriel was trying to bully him into taking him to see Cas. Like the air before lightning strikes.

“Oh fuck me.” Dean doesn’t have  _ anything _ . He’s got his service weapon on his hip and a cache of hunter gear in the back, but he doesn’t have anything that an angel would even blink at.

Still…

He unholsters his gun and turns off the safety. Better to go out guns blazing than begging for mercy that’ll never come. He chambers a round and waits for the asshole with wings to get close enough to take a shot at. He wonders if this is the guy that killed all of his friends today.

The dude laughs like he can hear Dean’s thoughts and it sets his teeth on edge.  _ Fuck _ , Dean thinks,  _ he probably can _ . Dean smirks.

_ Yo, dickwad! _ He makes sure to project his thoughts loud and clear, just in case. His brain trips, unable to think of a proper taunt on the fly.  _ You fucking suck! _

He cringes at his own ineptitude. Unbidden, he imagines blood and tissue dripping from the ceiling of the SUV and pink starburst patterns in either front seat. That’s all that’s gonna be left of him and Cas. No bodies. No way for their families to know what happened or why-for  _ Dean’s _ family to know what happened. The sad thing is, he’s not sure if that was the angel retaliating or his own thoughts turning against him, but either way he won’t go quietly.

_ This can’t be it. _

He fires his gun: once, twice, three times. The bullets drop to the ground short of reaching the angel like they just… lost momentum.

“You’re familiar,” the angel says (Lucifer? Is this Lucifer?), his smile bemused now rather than creepily excited. He’s close enough now that Dean can see his face. It’s rotting, chunks of flesh peeling off leaving his tissues exposed. Sharp blue eyes examine Dean in a way that makes him feel laid bare and vulnerable despite being fully clothes and inside a vehicle thirty feet away. It’s him. His face isn’t all tore up in the photos they have on file, but it’s him.

“Do you mind if I- Of course you don’t. It’s only polite.”

Dean doesn’t know what he’s talking about until things, his memories, start flashing behind his eyes:

Him and Sam loading up the Impala for the trip East after Jess’s funeral; Charlie’s face, bright red, when she first met Dorothy and tripped over her own feet; Benny carrying a passed out Claire up two flights of stairs after her 21st birthday party while Dean followed with Sam and Charlie on either arm making sure they didn’t fall and Jo laughed at all of them, appearing perfectly sober despite out drinking all of them; Sam graduating high school; Claire’s arrival at Singer Home; Dad dropping dead in the hospital ten minutes after he sold his soul to keep Dean alive after dad wrecked the Impala, drunk, with Dean and Sam in it.

Mom. The last time Dean saw her. She kissed him and Sam goodbye and tucked a strange knife ( _ the demon-killing knife _ ) into her belt. She and Missouri trade solemn stares before mom walks out the door. Missouri knew it was a suicide mission. Dean figured that out a long time ago. He didn’t know mom knew it too. He didn’t know mom walked into her death,  _ away from him and Sam _ , with both eyes wide open.

A yell rips itself from Dean’s throat as he pushes and shoves at the presence in his head. It’s pointless. The presence, the angel,  _ Lucifer _ , pulls away without a fight, leaving Dean clutching his gun and gasping for air.

“What a surprise!” The angel clasps his hands together over his heart and grins at Dean as he slows to a stop ten feet away from the beat up SUV. “You’re Mary’s boy! Hey, do me a favor, would ya? After I kill you, cuz I’m going to kill you real soon, tell her thanks for springing me out of the Cage. Shame it killed her, but I mean, _ so worth it _ .”

Dean thinks his brain might be broken, or maybe it’s only his ears.

“What?”

The angel grins, shark-like. “Aww, he doesn’t know. I’ll give you the Cliff Notes since I’m on a bit of a schedule, kid. Your mommy, Mary Winchester, set me, Lucifer, Lightbringer, Morningstar, free from the cage my dear sweet dad locked me in. She died in a glorious blast of pure grace as I emerged in my true form and as she died, her last thoughts were of her boys-that’s you!-and they were so warm and lovely I thought, what the hell. I’ll give humanity a try.”

Dean stares, mouth slightly open, his brain struggling to take everything in. Lucifer was only supposed to be a call name, something to disguise his identity. Dean never in a million years imagined they would be dealing with the fucking devil.

“I know,” the angel (the  _ actual _ Lucifer???) says. “Terrible, impulsive decision. Humans suck just as much as I always knew they did. Total waste of twenty years. But,” the corners of his mouth tug down in a mockery of a thoughtful frown, “it wasn’t all bad, I guess. I mean, who would’ve thought Michael would follow suit, making it that much easier to snuff him out as a pitiful human?”

Lucifer chuckles to himself. His smile droops and his eyes go distant for a moment and then he snaps back to the present. “Shoot. Playtime’s over. Buh-bye, D-,”

Dean empties the rest of his clip at Lucifer’s chest. As he squeezes the trigger for the final time, Gabriel appears between him and Lucifer and the bullet whizzes past his ear.

“Hey, watch it!”

“Gabe?” Dean lowers his gun, useless without extra ammo and useless against angels regardless.

Gabriel looks a little worse for wear than when Dean saw him last. There are cuts and scratches on his arms and legs, some of which seem to be glowing? But he stands relaxed like he couldn’t be bothered.

Lucifer sighs. “This again? I thought you would have learned the first time, you can’t beat me. You should have taken that banishing as the blessing it was and ran. I mean… I would have caught up to you eventually and slaughtered you where you stood for being a pain in my ass, but at least you would have had a  _ little _ extra time.”

Banishing. That’s right. Cas banished the angels (Lucifer and apparently Gabe??) using that sigil. There’s a picture of it on Dean’s phone if he could only-

His phone isn’t in his pocket. Belatedly, he remembers dropping it in the cup holder after speaking briefly with Victor about an hour into their trip. Dean glances around the wreckage of the SUV. It’s gone now, who knows where.

Still, he has to try. He hopes he remembers it well enough. There’s only one way to find out.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Lucy, I love you, but you’re a great big bag of dicks.”

Dean snags a piece of glass and draws it against his palm hard enough for blood to well up in a pool in his hand.

Lucifer draws a short silvery sword out of nothing and suddenly Gabriel has one in his hand as well. Dean remembers Victor’s telling him about the felled trees in the woods near the house. He’s never seen an angel fight before, but he’s pretty sure he knows what the aftermath looks like and it didn’t sound like something a human would survive being this close to. He’s going to have to hurry.

Lucifer strikes first. Dean isn’t sure if he ran at Gabe or teleported, but one moment he’s three yards away and the next their swords are clashing with a force that rocks the car.

Dean curses. The sigil is done-he leaned over Cas and drew it on the dash in front of him for lack of any better option-but nothing is happening.

Lucifer disappears and reappears behind Gabriel, but Gabriel has already turned around, parrying his attached before he can finish it. It hurts Dean’s head to try and keep up.

“Slap it,” Cas says groggily.

Dean swivels around to face him. His eyes are unfocused and he looks like he’s in a lot of pain, but he’s awake and speaking.

“What?” Dean asks. Then he remembers the inconvenient bloody handprint covering the face of the sigil. He’d thought Cas touched it by accident but-

“Slap it,” Cas repeats, more clearly this time.

Dean doesn’t waste another second and does as he’s told and slaps his bloody palm over the complete sigil.

Blinding white light erupts from the sigil and behind him, accompanied by a furious yell. He turns to look, but Cas claps his hand over Dean’s face and says, “ _ Don't _ .”

They wait a moment after all is quiet before Cas takes his hand away and Dean chances a glance behind him.

Nothing. There’s nothing but torn up farmland from their graceless highway exit and beyond that, the deserted highway itself. Dean would love nothing more than to slump back in his seat and relax for two seconds, but he’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to properly relax ever again. Lucifer wants him dead.  _ The Lucifer. _ Satan wants Cas dead. Like fuck Dean is going to let that happen unless he’s already a corpse himself… which at this point seems likely.

They’re sitting ducks.

Somehow, the receipt Cas drew his warding on is still fisted in his right hand along with the Sharpie. “Gimme those,” Dean says, gesturing to them.

Cas looks down at the items in his hand then passes them over without a fight. Careful not to jostle him too much, Dean reaches down by Cas’s legs and pulls the lever that allows the passenger seat to slide backward and slowly guides it back as far as it’ll go.

“What are you doing?” Cas asks without making any move to stop him.

“Making room,” Dean answers. “Recline your seat back, would you? Careful! Don’t bend over upside down like that. You’ve got another head injury.”

Cas grumbles something about good for nothing angel brothers and blindly fumbles for the recline button and soon his seat is fully reclined back. Dean eyes the crumpled passenger door and decides against getting out and going around. Instead, he carefully climbs over the center console and into Cas’s side of the car. As he’s bringing his right foot over, he must duck his head down too far because he’s suddenly too dizzy to stay upright and practically falls into Cas’s lap.

Cas groans at the impact and grabs Dean by his shoulders to steady him. “Are you alright?”

Dean takes several even breaths until the black spots fade and everything stops spinning. He opens his eyes to find Cas watching him warily.

“Please don’t puke on me.”

Dean snorts and kneels on the floor between Cas’s legs, trying for the life of him to ignore how hot Cas is and instead focus on how  _ not _ sexy this situation is. It’s really hard though when Cas shoots him that dubious look with dark eyes.

Dean reaches above his head-wincing as the movement pulls on his abused muscles-and slaps on the lights, but being able to discern the exact shade of blue doesn’t help at all.

“Uh, lift up your shirt.”

Cas does it without hesitation like he isn’t acutely aware of the sexual connotations of their positions as he bares his stomach and lower ribs. Dean clears his throat and uncaps the marker and copies the warding onto Cas’s ribs like a goddamn professional. It gets easier when he remembers all the shit Lucifer- _ Morningstar, Lightbringer _ \- said about mom.

Before he knows it, he’s done, the passenger seat is no longer reclined and Cas is awkwardly inking the same warding onto Dean’s ribs as he hunches in front of him. Cas is faster than Dean and when he proclaims them both warded from angels, Dean gracelessly crawls back into his own seat.

He doesn’t waste any more time and tries the key in the ignition. After a few misfires, it starts.

“Hallehluya,” Dean mutters under his breath. He slowly maneuvers them back onto the highway, heading the opposite direction from before. Cas notices immediately.

“Where are we going now?”

“Someplace a-helluva-lot closer than South Dakota.” Besides, he can’t rationalize bringing the literal devil to Bobby’s doorstep… not that he thinks they would ever make it that far.

He steps on the gas. The sooner they get someplace they can hunker down and ward the shit out of, the better chance they have of seeing the sun rise one more time. This whole sitting duck in a tin can thing is for the birds.


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel stares at the dark cabin with trepidation. It’s old from what Castiel can tell in the dark. It looks abandoned and is basically everything one would imagine upon hearing the phrase “Cabin in the woods.” If Dean wasn’t so intent on keeping him alive (shielding Cas’s body with his own while they roasted alive), he would wonder if this is his secret serial killer hideout. Dean doesn’t do much to dispel the thought.

“Wait here,” Dean says, and then gets out of the vehicle without further explanation and walks around to the trunk.

Cas unbuckles his seatbelt and attempts to follow, but his door is so mangled and his body is so stiff and sore that he can’t get his door open. He crawls over and exits through the driver door and meets Dean at the back of the vehicle as he lifts the hatchback. The interior lights illuminate his unhappy frown.

“Seriously, dude,” he says. He starts removing panels from the sides of the interior and Castiel’s eyes go wide as he uncovers neatly organized, foam encased weapons: knives, guns, machetes. Then there’s also unusual things,  _ hunter _ things, such as bottles of what looks like water (holy water?), rosaries, bags and bags of rock salt, various herbs, stakes, a couple fire pokers (iron?), and… a water gun. Dean grabs a flashlight, a nice silver gun with a pearl handle, and a unique serrated knife with strange markings on the blade. He stares at it for a long moment before tucking it into his belt and facing Castiel.

“I appreciate the rock ‘em sock ‘em, go get ‘em attitude, but this is a hunter’s cabin and Rufus is a paranoid bastard so if he hasn’t added a dozen boobie traps since last I was here a decade ago then I’ll eat my sock.”

“You don’t think I can protect myself.”

Dean gives him a look. “I don’t think you know Rufus or hunters in general as well as I do and if I end up strung up a tree by my ankle I want you to be able to cut me down instead of being strung up next to me. Caspiche?”

Castiel scowls. His logic is sound. “I capisce,” he says begrudgingly.

Dean claps him on the shoulder. “Great. Grab whatever you’re comfortable with and if you hear me scream like a little girl, haul ass and save me, alright?”

“Of course.” Castiel frowns at the assortment of weapons, unsure what would be most useful. He hasn’t been trained to use a gun so he doesn’t want to wing it now, but he hasn’t been trained with anything else either. In the end, he selects a… well, a blade. It’s too long to be classified as a knife and too short to classify as a sword, but it feels solid and well balanced in his hand and his hand fits nicely around the worn leather of the handle.

“Huh,” Dean says, eyeing his choice.

“What?”

“Nothin’ angel boy.” He chambers a round in his gun. “You got the time?”

Castiel pats his pockets and finds his cell phone gone. He strains his memory and remembers leaving it on the coffee table before… Well, before.

“No.”

“Damn,” Dean mutters. “Alright, see ya in a few.”

Dean does not end up strung up a tree by his ankle. He does shout while he’s out of sight on the far side of the cabin, but before Castiel makes it more than a few paces he calls him off saying something about a raccoon. Once he’s finished checking the perimeter he enters the cabin itself. He takes significantly longer inside than he did outside, much to Castiel’s agitation.

While he waits, he finds a first aid kit and filches some pain medication, swallowing it dry. It probably won’t make much of a difference considering his numerous injuries and the surety of whiplash, but it can’t hurt.

Finally, the windows illuminate all at once making Castiel flinch at the sudden light, and then Dean steps back out on the porch, poking at a cut on his forearm, but otherwise not looking any worse for wear.

“Alright, we’re clear. Skip the second step on your way up, would you?”

“Is it a boobie trap?” Castiel asks, obediently stepping over it, first aid kit still clutched in his hand. They’ll need it to patch up their cuts and Cas saw some Icy Hot that he plans to abuse liberally.

Dean snickers. “You said ‘boobie’. Nah, it’s just loose.”

Castiel rolls his eyes and follows him into the cabin. Dean is already halfway under the kitchen sink, dragging out both paint and spray paint, as well as a couple brushes, but Castiel pauses in the doorway to take everything in. It only takes a moment. There’s not much.

It’s a one-room cabin. The “kitchen” is tucked in the farthest right corner and consists of a sink, stove, mini-fridge, and two cupboards. To Castiel’s immediate right is the “bedroom” (a tiny threadbare cot) and to his left, taking up the most space in the room, is a sagging sofa, a flat-screen TV propped up on an old silver metal cooler, and a closed door… if God loves Castiel even a little, that door will lead to a bathroom complete with indoor plumbing.

He walks around the sofa to the door and opens it to reveal… a closet.

God hates him- #Confirmed.

He frowns at the treasure trove of salt (rock salt, table salt, seasoned salt, etc.) and closes the door. Why must life continue to torment him? Indoor plumbing was doable for the sink, but they couldn’t swing for a toilet?  _ Hunters _ .

“What’s all that for?” Castiel asks Dean instead of addressing the lack of priorities exhibited by the owner of this cabin.

“I’m gonna ward the shit out of this place,” he says, shaking a spray can. Castiel frowns. That’s going to smell. “Would you mind getting a line of salt down across the windows and door? Nice and thick, no gaps.”

“I suppose not,” Castiel mutters and reopens the closet.

By the time Dean is finished, the whole cabin reeks to high heaven and Castiel has a migraine to complement his various aches and pains from being tossed around like a ragdoll in a rolling vehicle. All he wants to do is lay down, but Dean insists on showing him the trapdoor in the corner opposite the kitchen. It doesn’t lead anywhere, but it’s something. Cas hopes he doesn’t have to use it.

Once he’s seen all there is to see, he heads for the sofa. While he’d prefer to be horizontal, the cot looks questionable at best and the sofa is too short for him to lay comfortably. He settles for slouching down as far as the cushion will let him and throwing his arm over his eyes.

A moment later, Dean drops down onto the cushion beside him with a loud sigh that turns into a groan as he slouches similarly into the couch.

“Would you like some painkillers?” Cas asks, waving vaguely to the floor where he left the first aid kit without removing his arm.

Dean grunts. “In a minute. Those things aren’t gonna do much, but I got the next best thing.”

Cas moves his arm enough that he can peak at Dean beside him. “What?”

Dean grins a lifts a dark bottle and gives it a jaunty jiggle. “A little Hunter’s Helper can fix anything and Rufus keeps the good stuff.”

Cas frowns. “Dean, that’s a bottle of whiskey.”

“Yeah, ‘s what I said.” Dean sits up with a groan and pucks the first aid kit off the floor and examines what they have. Not enough bandages for their plethora of cuts from all of the glass, but they can prioritize. Dean swallows some pills and then pulls out a pair of tweezers and a box of little butterfly bandages.

“Alright, you first.” He hands him the whiskey and waits. Cas makes a face but unscrews the cap and slugs back a mouthful. He wrinkles his nose. He’s never been much of a drinker.

“Another,” Dean insists when Cas tries to pass it back. Cas rolls his eyes but takes another two mouthfuls under Dean’s direction before Dean will accept the bottle back. Dean takes a long drink himself before setting it aside and getting to his feet, grunting and groaning like a man double his age.

“We should do this at the sink. Get you washed up.”

Cas grimaces but doesn’t disagree and struggles to his feet as well. Dean frowns at his clothes for a long minute and when Cas looks down at them himself, he understands why. He’s still covered in glass. With a sigh, he takes off his shirt and uses it to carefully ruffle his hair over the sink, freeing what he can into the metal basin with soft  _ plinks _ like rain. He wonders if he should take off his pants too, but in the end, decides they can wait.

Dean is as gentle as he was that first night when he helped Cas wash Gabriel’s blood off his hands. He slathers a cream over the long welt that arcs over his shoulder and across his collarbone where the seat belt restrained him and uses a clean rag to blot away dried blood and dirt from his face, rinsing it periodically in the sink and adding soap as needed. He only needs to use the tweezers a few times, but each time Castiel hardly feels a thing as he carefully plucks shards of glass from his face. Or maybe that’s thanks to the whiskey.

When Dean deems him “as good as it’s gonna get,” Dean strips off his shirt as well and Cas gets to work returning the treatment. He only hopes he’s as fastidious and steady-handed as Dean had been for him. Dean only flinches once, when Cas is attempting to remove a small shard from the thin, soft skin below his right eye.

“Sorry,” Cas apologizes, finally managing to get ahold of the glass. He tosses it in the sink with the rest.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean says and takes another swig of whiskey. “We good?”

Cas squints at Dean’s face, taking in the tiny cuts and lacerations as well as the stubble roughening his jaw, the freckles spanning across the bridge of his nose and dusting across his cheekbones, the laugh lines framing his mouth and eyes… his eyes.

Castiel clears his throat and takes a step back. “Yes, I believe so.”

Dean searches Cas’s eyes curiously before he turns his back. “Great. I’m starving. You hungry?”

“Yes,” Castiel answers immediately. He hadn’t noticed before, but now that Dean’s mentioned it, he remembers he hasn’t eaten since lunch.

Dean opens a cupboard. “That’s unfortunate,” he says. “I knew Rufus was a cheapskate, but damn. Would it kill the guy to get some fucking stew or something?”

Cas peaks over Dean’s shoulder into the nearly barren cupboard and frowns at the juxtaposition between the salt closet and the food cupboard. There are six cans and four of them are some type of bean.

Dean sighs and turns around, nearly walking straight into Cas. Dean flinches back. “Jesus! Personal space, dude!”

Cas blinks and steps backward, keeping to himself that Dean’s the one that almost walked into him. “Apologies.”

Dean mutters something about a bell under his breath. “Whatever. Do you want beans, beans, beans, or fruit?”

Cas wrinkles his nose. 

“Yeah, same,” Dean agrees. “What the hell, last night on earth right?” He grabs two cans out of the cupboard and holds them up for Cas to see. One is mixed fruit cocktail and the other is apple pie filling. Cas grins and Dean returns it. “Knew I liked you.”

They end up shirtless on the couch, trading the cans back and forth between each other until all that’s left is syrup. Cas drinks the syrup while Dean cleans out the pie filling can with his fingers. By the end of it, Cas feels sticky sweet, but no longer hungry and mostly exhausted. Every time his eyes drift, he hears screams and the roaring explosion from the parking garage and smells blood. There’s no way he’s going to sleep tonight.

“So…” Dean begins. Cas lazily turns his head to face him. Apparently, Dean is just as reluctant to use the cot as he is and is slumped on the couch beside Cas. It’s okay. Cas doesn’t mind sharing. “Last night on Earth.”

Cas frowns. “Yes, you said that earlier.” Not that Cas disagrees, but he doesn’t think endlessly repeating it is helping anything.

Dean scoffs lightly. “No, I mean… what are we gonna do? We’re probably going to be dead by morning so what should our last act on Earth be?”

He waggles his eyebrows, but Cas doesn’t know what hidden meaning he’s attempting to convey. “I just thought I’d sit here quietly.”

Dean stares and Cas begins to get the feeling he’s missing something important. “What?”

“Are you straight or something?” Dean asks. “Earlier, I thought maybe… But if you’re not interested that’s cool too.”

Cas frowns. “Interested in what?”

Dean stares. “In  _ me _ . I’m trying to ask if you’re interested in having sex with me. Tonight, if that wasn’t clear.”

“Oh.” Castiel feels his face flush hot. “I umm… I do find you to be very aesthetically pleasing but I don’t… I’m not…”

“Alright, don’t hurt yourself,” Dean mutters, down at his lap. “You can say no.”

“I’m trying to explain, Dean,” Cas snaps.

“What’s there to explain? Either you’re interested or you’re not. No point dragging out the rejection, just say you’re not interested.”

“It’s not that I’m not interested in  _ you _ , I’m not interested in  _ sex _ ,” Cas says with heat. Dean looks up at him, absolutely baffled. Before he can get a word it to further derail Castiel’s explanation, he continues, “I’m asexual, but from what I’ve seen of you, you’re smart, capable, kind, and tenacious and if circumstances were different I would be very interested in asking you on a date.”

Dean blushes brilliantly and looks down at his lap. If Cas wasn’t so annoyed it would be another fascinating facet of Dean’s personality. He didn’t know he was capable of embarrassment. “I don’t know about all that.”

“ _ I _ do,” Cas insists. “You’re also stubborn, crude, self-depreciating, and irritatingly good looking regardless of the circumstances.”

Dean barks out an abrupt laugh and looks back up at Cas with a surprisingly soft expression. “Is this the part where I tell you about all the stuff I like and don’t like about you?”

Cas pulls a face. “Please don’t.”

Dean laughs again, apparently delighted. “I’ll spare you this time, but if by some miracle Lucifer doesn’t kill us, I’ll write you a fucking sonnet.”

Cas’s smile runs off his face like egg yolk. “Lucifer?”

Dean’s smile vanishes as well. “Yeah. That’s… the angel told me the whole deal while you were out of it. Apparently, he’s the real deal.”

“Lucifer,” he repeats back stonily.

Dean pushes out a long breath. “Yeah. He uh… He’s been on our radar for awhile as an assassin-recognized his M.O. from the house-but we never realized… I thought Lucifer was a play name or whatever. I didn’t think we were dealing with actual Satan.”

“He’s an assassin? He’s been killing people?” Castiel feels faint.

“Yeah.” Dean screws his mouth into a sympathetic grimace. “Fucker doesn’t leave much behind. I guess now we know how he does it. Fuckin’ angel.”

“Can I… Do you have any photos?” Cas asks around growing nausea in his gut.

Dean frowns and eyes Cas critically. He shakes his head. “If I had my phone, but I lost it when we crashed… Why? You think you know this guy? I can describe him.”

Castiel nods, lips numb and focuses on breathing as Dean describes his adopted brother that he hasn’t seen in years.

“Cas stay with me, man. Breathe,” Dean urges.

Castiel obediently sucks in a lungful of air and Dean’s face swims into focus in front of him. Somehow he’s now kneeling on the floor in front of him and Cas has no idea how he got there.

“You know him.”

It’s not a question. Castiel struggles to laugh. It comes out sounding more like a whimper. Know him? That would be like asking Castiel if he knows his own reflection in the mirror.

“That’s my brother.”

The words hang in the air, heavy like the air before a typhoon. Dean drops to the couch beside him, less like he fancied a sit and more like his knees forgot to keep him upright.

“He… We used to play video games,” Castiel continues, staring sightlessly straight ahead rather than watch Dean’s face as he confesses to having grown up and played with a murderer. “The kind where you make your own character. The name he always chose was Lucifer. He liked it. It was a play on his own name, only bigger, tougher, intimidating. I haven’t… We haven’t spoken in… years. Not since I came out to my family. He and Gabriel were really close for a long time. He idolized him.

“I can’t…” Cas presses the flat of his fist hard against his lips and shakes his head. “I can’t believe…”

“What was his name?” Dean asks after Castiel trails off. “When he was human.”

“Luke Milton,” Castiel answers dutifully.

“That short for anything?” Dean presses. “Lucas?”

“No. Just… just Luke. Like from the Bible.”

They fall into silence, Castiel lost in thought. How did this happen to him? Why is his brother out to kill him? How did he not realize his brother was actually Lucifer, depowered and human, but still the devil? He was always strange and off-beat, but then again, they all were.

Dean says something and gives Castiel’s knee a squeeze making him almost jump out of his skin, but Dean doesn’t seem to notice and gets up from the couch. Castiel lets him go. He really doesn’t need Dean here to witness his break down. Why is everything so complicated? How is he supposed to come back from this? Assuming he survives, how can he go back to his old life after he’s been irrevocably changed in only a couple days.

Surely most people would go back to their old life and salvage all that they can, but what really is there for Castiel to salvage? His boss is dead and he has no intention of going back into that career field regardless. He’s found Claire so he no longer has a reason to.

What is he going to do about Claire? She has a life. She has a family, a great one. She doesn’t need Castiel. She did just fine on her own. Better than Castiel did.

Can Castiel really mess all of that up? She has a life and he’s not in it. It’s as simple as that. He could be content knowing that she’s alive and well, couldn’t he? The thought sends a wave of loneliness through him that only grows stronger as his thoughts turn to his small one bedroom apartment back in Virginia. He has nothing to go back to and everything to stay for, but can he do that with no regard for the people whose lives he would be permanently altering? Could he be that selfish?

_ Yes _ , he thinks.  _ Yes, and it would be easy _ .

But he has to survive first. How does one stand against the devil and live? He’s not convinced it’s possible.

“Hey.”

Cas startles out of his macabre thoughts to find Dean returned, wearing a clean henley and holding out a t-shirt that Castiel recognizes from the bag Ginny packed for him that must have survived the crash. He accepts it and fights back the tears that prick the backs of his eyes, gladly pulling it over his head for the excuse to hide his face if only for a few seconds.

“Listen,” Dean says when Cas is fully clothed once more, “I know this is shitty but-,”

“Dean, I appreciate the effort but there is absolutely nothing you can say to make me feel better right now. I propose, instead of suffering through meaningless platitudes, we drain this bottle of whiskey so we don’t have to be sober when we are inevitably blasted into sludge.”

Dean’s lips twitch. “If we get out of this will you marry me?”

“If we get out of this I’ll consider it,” Cas says without missing a beat.

Dean smirks. “Fair enough.” He picks up the bottle, removes the cap, and passes it to Cas for the first drink.

Cas takes a long pull before he passes it back to Dean and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. Dean watches him, the bottle halfway to his lips.

“I’m still not going to fuck you tonight.”

“Yeah, I get it. You’re ace-,” Dean sits up straighter. “Wait. Tonight? Meaning there might be another time when you  _ would _ fuck me?”

Cas can’t contain his smirk. “You’re a bottom then?”

Dean flushes bright red. “Maybe. Yeah. So? I mean, I can give as well as receive if that’s what you-.”

“But you prefer to receive,” Cas says. It’s not a question. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Dean narrows his eyes at him over the rim of the bottle. “I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not.”

“You’ll know when I’m fucking with you.” He nods to the bottle that Dean has yet to take a drink from. “Are you getting drunk with me or not?”

Dean pulls a face and takes a long drink before passing the whiskey to Cas.

Twenty minutes later, the whiskey is gone and Cas is pleasantly buzzed but not sloppy drunk. Together, they discover that the TV actually works, but their only options for movies are recordings of the first few seasons of American Idol.

“I am giving Rufus so much shit for this if I ever see him again,” Dean says as he loads the DVD for season one into the player.

Cas doesn’t say anything, content to slump into the couch, eyes half-mast as he watches Dean move around the room. Finally, the TV screen flickers to life, too bright and too loud, but it drowns out the sounds of the night surrounding the cabin and gives Cas an excuse to close his eyes without worrying about what lurks in the dark shadows of the room.

The couch dips as Dean sits down, close enough that their thighs press together. Dean puts his arm around his shoulders and Cas gladly leans into him, breathing in his musky scent.

“Is this okay?” Dean asks.

“Mmhmm.”

“You gonna sleep? You’re gonna miss all the weird shit from the first auditions.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever sleep again,” Cas replies honestly. He’s had so many nightmares plaguing him in broad daylight that he can’t imagine letting his guard down enough to sleep in the deep dark night. This will have to be good enough.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, and Cas knows he feels the same way.

“Is it always like this?” Cas asks. He feels Dean turn to look at him. “Your job, I mean. Is it always this…”

“Horrifying?” Dean fills in.

Cas nods. He feels Dean’s chest swell as he takes a deep breath and then deflate as he releases it.

“No, not always, but… sometimes. Enough that I already have my fair share of recurring nightmares.”

“What are your nightmares about?” Cas asks thinking of fire and burning flesh, blood-stained walls and silence-the god awful silence of being the only one left alive.

“People I couldn’t save. Things that… I dunno, didn’t happen but almost did. Maybe should have.”

“You can’t save everyone.”  _ You can’t save me. _

“I can try.”

He says it with so much defiance that Castiel’s lips curl into a smile. “You’re a good man, Dean Winchester. I’m sorry for… well, I’m sorry.”

“Hey, you’ve got nothing to apologize for. This is my job and I signed up for it knowing the risks.”

“Still.”

The TV explodes with sounds of cheering and Cas cracks open an eye to watch the camera pan past a massive line of people. “All of these people are waiting to audition?”

“Yeah. Have you never seen this before?”

Cas shakes his head. “I didn’t watch much TV growing up. With six brothers and sisters, I rarely got to choose what to watch. I preferred books anyway.”

“Six brothers and sisters?”

“Mmm. Adopted. My adoptive parents collected kids they thought might be fallen angels. They’re the ones that gave me the angel warding tattoo.” He frowns. “Looks like they were right about at least three of us.”

“How did they know?” Dean asks. “I mean, out of all the kids out there, how would they figure out which ones are fallen angels?”

“Well for me it was pretty simple. It was all in the police report. When my parents were killed I told the police exactly what happened. Angels killed my parents and tried to kill my sister and me too. By that point, they had a contact in law enforcement who would keep an ear out for that sort of thing. I guess they knew there were angels out there trying to kill fallen angels.”

“How did you get away? I mean, you guys were just kids up against angels.”

Castiel frowns. He’s wondered this many times himself, but that night is a blur and only a few things have stood the test of time.

“I don’t remember,” he tells Dean. “I remember my parents… We were all in the kitchen eating dinner and they just…” he flinches involuntarily, the memory more vivid than usual due to the refresher in exactly how it feels to be inexplicably covered in gore.

“Claire was there?” Dean asks softly.

Cas purses his lips and nods. That, he remembers clear as day, looking across the table and meeting his sister’s wide panicked eyes. “She was. I… I remember thinking I needed to protect her. I needed to keep her safe and I was the only one there to do it so I had to… There was something I had to do.” It’s all muddled in confusion, panic, and fear, but now a new thought comes to him.

“I wonder if I banished them.”

“How would you have known to do that?” Dean asks. “You were a kid.”

“How did I know how to do earlier today?” Castiel refutes. “It’s not a sigil I’m familiar with. I didn’t learn it in a book. I think…” He hesitates. “I think I knew it when I was an angel.”

“I thought fallen angels lost all their memories.”

“I don’t think they’re lost, just hidden. My conscious brain doesn’t remember anything from being an angel, but I think when I’m terrified and desperate like I was both times I used it that I was able to pull it up from my subconscious and use it even though I didn’t remember once I came back to myself.”

Dean is silent for a long moment as he ponders this new information. “Huh. Well, maybe your suppressed angel memories will pull through and save our collective asses with a way to off the devil.” He snorts after he says it, like he doesn’t really believe it. Neither does Castiel, but it’s nice to pretend.

An hour later, Dean is struggling to stay awake. His head droops lower and lower until he snaps back upright all at once. It happens three times before Castiel takes matters into his own hands.

“Budge over.” He nudges Dean until he scoots over, giving Cas the space to turn sideways on the sofa with his back against the armrest and his legs propped up on the cushions on either side of Dean.

“Come here.” He pats his chest expectantly, raising an eyebrow when Dean hesitates. “Sleep while you can. I’ll watch over you.”

Cas expects a joke or sarcastic quip, but Dean simply searches Cas’s face before laying down as instructed. Cas wraps his arms around him, feeling strangely as though he’s been given a great gift. The gift of trust?

On impulse (he’ll blame the whiskey even though he’s felt sober for awhile now), he dips down to press a kiss to Dean’s forehead, careful to avoid the tiny cuts.

“Sleep,” he instructs, but when Dean doesn’t answer other than to sigh lightly, he thinks he may be asleep already.

.

**Dean**

.

Dean wakes up all at once, but he doesn’t feel afraid or panicked. The TV is off-whether it turned off by itself or Cas shut it off remains to be seen. Cas is sleeping peacefully, his chest rising and falling in a comforting steady rhythm under Dean’s cheek. Some guardian angel… But Dean doesn’t fault him for it and is glad they each got some sleep for what’s probably the last time.

He’s not sure how long he slept, but it couldn’t have been that long. The sun hasn’t yet cleared the horizon and it was well after midnight by the time they settled down. It doesn’t matter. He’s not getting back to sleep with all of this new nightmare material flitting around in his skull, but he’s sore and tired and Cas is warm and comfortable and he doesn’t want to wake him.

Besides, he can keep watch from here.

The sun rises and with it, so does Cas, blinking sleepily until Dean’s stomach growls, startling them both. Dean chuckles disjointedly, embarrassed, and sits up to stretch.

He groans as muscles pull in ways they should not and his bones creak their displeasure. Staying still for so long was a mistake.

He hears a muffled gurgle and turns to find a sheepish grin on Cas’s face. He grins.

“What flavor of beans d’you want for breakfast?” he asks as he carefully gets to his feet, stifling the groan that surfaces at the back of his throat.

“Does it matter? Sustenance is sustenance.” He shrugs and then makes a face like he regretted it very much and goes back to trying to be as still as possible to avoid aggravating his poor abused body.

“Beans and painkillers,” Dean amends.

“That sounds acceptable.” Cas almost smiles, but it falls flat and Dean is reminded that while he always knew someday he’d poke a bigger bear than he could kill or lock up and he’d die bloody, this is a new and unexpected turn of events for Cas. At least Dean signed up for this shit. Cas was chucked into it head first and expected to keep up or die. So far he’s done a pretty good job not dying.

Gravel crunches in the driveway and Dean freezes halfway to the kitchen. It’s barely audible, but one look at Cas’s face tells him that he hears it too.

‘ _ Go! _ ’ Dean mouths the word at him without making a sound. A defiant expression crosses Cas’s face, but Dean glares and jabs his finger at the hidden trap door he showed him last night. They can hear a voice now, faint but unmistakably male. The defiant expression morphs into fear and Dean hates how relieved he is to see it. Cas gets up.

Dean grabs his gun and his mom’s demon-killing knife from under the couch cushion where he stashed them last night for easy access and waits until Cas disappears in the hole in the floor and the door shuts silently over his head before he clicks off the safety.

He is goddamn done getting jerked around by this winged dick. He is goddamn through with being on defense. He is goddamn finished letting someone else call the shots. If this is how he goes out, fine. At least he gave it his all and fought tooth and nail to the bitter end.

He summons up all the rage and fury he can muster and, gun in his right hand, knife in his left, flings open the front door… smack into Gabriel’s nose.

“Ow! What the shit, Winchester!”

“Gabrie-  _ Sam?! _ ”

Sam dodges around Gabriel and crashes into Dean, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. Dean hugs him back just as fiercely, ignoring his body’s screaming protests. Then he remembers him and Cas shouldn’t be on any angel’s radar right now.

“How the fuck did you find us?” Dean wiggles out of Sam’s embrace, working hard to tamp down the terror that wants to make itself the center of attention.

“Was it supposed to be hard?” Sam scoffs, brushing past him to enter the cabin only to stop in his tracks, staring around at all of the new warding coating the walls. “Holy shit, Dean. This thing has got you spooked.”

Dean ignores him and follows him inside, half aware of Gabriel following after and shutting the door.

“Yeah! It was!” Dean says, hysteria climbing up his throat.

Sam turns to face Dean again and looks him up and down for the first time. He frowns.

“Calm down, Deano,” Gabriel says. “Sam found you, not me. Whatever warding you’ve chicken scratched on yourselves works well enough. Where’s my brother?”

“Oh shit.” Dean heads for the trap door, speaking over his shoulder as he tucks the knife into his belt, flips the safety on his gun, and tucks his gun into the back of his waistband. “What do you mean ‘well enou- _ Umph! _ ”

As Dean pulls open the trap door, Cas launches himself out of it and tackles Dean to the floor with a yell. Dean lands hard, flat on his back.

“Oh.” Cas pulls a face as he recognizes him. “Sorry, Dean.”

Dean waves him off, trying to catch his breath.

“Are you alright?” Cas offers him a hand and Dean accepts it, letting Cas pull him to his feet while they both grunt and groan like old men.

“Peachy,” he grunts. “You’re brother’s here. Not the one that’s Satan though.”

Cas whirls around to see Sam and Gabe standing behind the sofa. “Gabriel, you’re alive.” His relief hardly has time to form before his expression morphs into horror. “How did you find us?” Before anyone can respond, he reaches over and jerks Dean’s shirt up, exposing the slight pouch of his tummy and the stark black warding scrawled across his pale skin.

“Hey!” Dean jerks away, but Cas has already dropped his shirt, apparently satisfied, and has lifted his own for examination. Dean can’t help but notice the abs peaking out on his tanned skin. Sometimes life isn’t fair.

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “For dad’s sake, would both of you can it? Sam figured out where Dean would go from the site of the crash and all I can get from either one of you is a general vicinity of oh, let’s say, 100 miles? Luci’s probably circling, but can’t pin down exactly where you are and I already snagged his ace in the hole,” he says, jutting his thumb at Sam.

Dean pales. He hadn’t considered Lucifer going after his family. He’s grateful that Gabriel brought Sam here, but what about-,”

“Oh hello, umm, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean slowly turns to face Cas, thinking for a horrifying moment that he’s talking to him. He does a double-take when he realizes he’s looking at Sam.

“It’s Sam,” Sam says kindly.

“Wait. You two know each other?” Dean says.

“Unfortunately,” Cas says. Before Dean can tear into him and demand to know what  _ that’s _ supposed to mean, he continues, “Mr. Win-  _ Sam _ is Gabriel’s lawyer, so we’ve seen rather a lot of each other over the years.”

Dean stares at Cas for a long moment, nonplussed, and Cas stares back. It’s surreal to realize they’ve been dancing around meeting each other for years now without having any idea. He wonders how Cas feels about that. About how close he was to Claire without knowing it. How would things have been different had Claire dropped in and surprised Sam at work while Cas was there? Would he have still been working for Crowley? Would Dean have met him as Claire’s birth brother with all of the strange baggage and insecurity that would come with that?

Sam clears his throat pointedly and Dean rips his eyes away from Cas to focus on Gabe who is looking weirdly smug.

“What the fuck do you need a lawyer for?” he asks.

Gabriel smirks. “Well, wouldn’t you like to-,”

Cas interrupts harshly. “You’ve been using your powers against  _ people _ .”

Gabriel’s smirk vanishes. “Okay, hear me out-,”

“You’ve killed people,” Cas says, horrified.

“Only people that deserved it! I swear. Sammy, back me up.”

Sam’s lips pinch. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“You told him,” Cas says. “You told him what you are.”

“Well, I mean I did poof him here a few minutes ago so I-,”

“No,” Cas says and Gabriel’s feeble grin crumbles. “How long ago did you tell him?”

“Well technically, I told him I’m a trickster.”

“I figured out the whole angel thing on my own. He’s way too juiced up to be-,”

“When?” Cas demands. “How long have you known the truth?”

Sam shoots an apologetic look Gabe’s way, but Gabriel is looking at Cas with shame. “It’s been umm, five years? Give or take?”

Cas’s face blanks out. He shuts down, stuffing every emotion deep inside. Gabriel shifts anxiously on the balls of his feet and Sam gives him a warning look, but he’s already opening his mouth.

“Cassie, I’m sorry.”

“For which part?” Cas asks, face and tone neutral. “For not telling me or for not telling me before I found out?”

Sam and Dean trade uncomfortable glances. This is not going well. Dean sidles over to Sam and asks lowly, “Why the fuck are you representing him if you know he’s guilty? I thought you weren’t one of those bloodsucking sleazeballs.”

“All of it,” Gabriel says, oblivious to Sam and Dean’s side conversation. “Everything! I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry my reasons for not telling you hurt your feelings. I’m  _ sorry _ , Cas.”

“It’s complicated,” Sam murmurs in response. “He… I dunno. He goes after people who get away with crimes and mets out his own brand of justice with a side of twisted irony.”

“You didn’t hurt my feelings,” Cas says.

Dean side-eyes his brother. “Okay so he’s like a vigilante, but killing people? I dunno, man.”

Gabriel laughs. “Oh cut the bullshit. Yes, I did. It hurts you that I didn’t feel like I could be honest with you.”

Sam shakes his head. “That was only twice. One was basically a terrorist, shot up a Planned Parenthood, and the other was a pedophile. Both got acquitted on technicalities and were gonna go free.”

“You should have trusted me,” Cas spits, a crack in the facade. He closes his eyes for a moment to compose himself and when he opens them again, the stone cold expression is back. “I need some air.”

“No,” Dean cuts in, drawing a sharp look from Cas. “You have to stay within the wards. Where it’s safe.”

Castiel seems to swell for a moment and Dean braces himself for a fight, but then Cas turns away and all of the moxie drains out of him. He nods tiredly.

“You’re right.”

Silently, Dean watches him shuffle over to the sofa and sink down into the cushion.

“Damn right, I am,” Dean mutters then turns to Sam. “Where’s everybody else? Charlie? Benny?”

“Safe,” Sam says. “I had Gabriel round everyone up and drop them off at Bobby’s until this blows over.”

Dean huffs out a breath of disbelief. While he’s glad everyone is safe, he can’t believe for a second that this is something that will just… blow over. Sam frowns, concerned and it’s too much for Dean to handle right now.

“Who’s ready for lunch?” He asks, too loud. Sam’s concerned expression grows more constipated looking, Gabriel is still staring at the back of Cas’s head with kicked puppy eyes, and Cas is staring blankly at the black screen of the TV. Awesome. “We got baked beans, chili beans, garbanzo beans, or carrots.”

Sam wrinkles his nose. “I’m good.”

Dean grins wolfishly. “Hey Sammy, what’s the difference between a chickpea and a garbanzo bean?”

Sam shoots him a bitch face. “Inappropriate, Dean.”

“I’ve never had a garbanzo bean on my face!” Dean laughs to himself and heads to the pantry, turning his back on the dirty look he knows Sam is aiming his way.

“Why would a woman urinate on your face?” Cas asks. Dean fumbles the cans and one lands on his foot. He curses and hurries to grab it without looking up at Cas. “I can’t imagine what kind of circumstance- Oh. Unless it was an accident while she was-,”

“It was a joke, Cas,” Dean interrupts, his voice tight. His face feels hot and if Gabriel wasn’t already on miserably thin ice, he’s certain he’d be egging Cas on right now.

“But-,”

“Can we focus?” Sam cuts in. “Isn’t the literal devil out there hunting you guys right now? Shouldn’t we, I don’t know, make a plan?”

What little levity Dean had managed to drum up vanishes. He snorts and begins sawing open the can of baked beans with his pocket knife. Rufus really needs to invest in a can opener.

“What?” Sam demands, eyes hard and mouth pressed into a thin line.

The corners of Dean’s lips pull up into a sarcastic mockery of a smile as he shrugs. “Nothin’. Feel free to plan away.” He breaks off the lid with a sharp twist and tosses it into the sink with unnecessary force. He’d feel bad about all the shit him and Cas have tossed in Rufus’s poor sink (bits of glass, three tin can tops, and an empty bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label), not to mention what they did to the walls, but he figures he’s not much longer for this earth so what the hell. “Let me know when you’ve got one figured out.”

That said, he jams a spoon into the plain baked beans (Jewish bastard couldn’t have sprung for some pork and beans for guests) and stalks across the cabin to plop down on the sofa next to Cas. He hands him the can and Cas accepts it silently and takes the first bite. He makes a face but takes two more before passing it back to Dean.

“You know there’s a stove, right?” Gabriel says, eyeing their meal with disgust.

“What’s the point?” Dean asks through a mouthful. “Hot or cold, I’m still stuck eating beans for breakfast.”

He passes the can back to Cas who scoops out another spoonful. “Fewer dishes,” he adds before popping the spoon in his mouth.

“Exactl-,”

“You don’t think we can do it,” Sam says over him, clearly not finished with their previous conversation. “You don’t think we can beat him.”

Dean turns on the couch so his back is against the armrest and he can look at Sam over the back of it. “You do?” he asks, incredulous. “That’s literal Satan out there. If he wants us dead, what the hell am I supposed to do about it? Everything I got means squat to an angel and that cute little banishing trick ain’t gonna work a third time.”

“So you’re giving up?” Sam demands. “You’re not even going to try?”

Shame creeps up the back of his neck. “This is trying, Sam. All we got is defense. I thought about it all last night and we’ve got nothing that can take down the fucking devil.”

“What about Gabe?” Sam says stubbornly.

Dean scoffs. “What about him?”

“Excuse me?” Gabriel asks. “I could turn your ass to grass, boy.”

Dean raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. “But could you do the same to your big bro out there?” Gabriel falters. “I thought not. If you had that kind of juice you’d be out there going after him, not holed up here with us.”

Gabriel glares. “I’ve got something better. Something that will make it so no one has to fight or get hurt.”

Cas hands Dean the beans and turns to mirror Dean’s position, facing him on the sofa and looking over the back of it at Gabriel with a cautious hope in his eyes. Even Sam is eyeing him curiously now.

“Well?’ Dean prompts and stuffs a large spoonful of beans into his mouth. His optimism is firmly on hold. “Wow us.”

With a mocking smile, Gabe reaches into his pocket and holds up a small glowing vial between his thumb and forefinger. It’s unremarkable save for the iridescent cloudy  _ something _ swirling inside it. Cas goes stiff.

“What the fuck is that?” Dean asks.

Sam gasps. “Is that-?”

“Yep!” Gabriel says, eyes only on Cas. “It’s your Grace.”

Dean’s mouth pops open, releasing a couple beans into his lap. He quickly closes it and his head swivels between Cas and the vial. Cas looks pissed.

“No,” he says. “Keep it away from me. I don’t want… I fell for a reason. I  _ chose _ humanity.”

“You fell to find me. Hannah said-,”

“She lied!” Cas yells, shocking Gabe into silence. “What she said doesn’t make any  _ sense _ . How could I expect to have an easier time finding you as a human than as an angel? How would I remember to look for you? It sounds like a poorly constructed excuse and the fact remains, I  _ chose _ this.”

“You’ll die!” Gabriel bursts. Cas flinches back. “What’s it matter what you chose if you’re going to be hunted down and murdered for it? He doesn’t care about angels. His fight is against humanity. If you’re not human then he’s got no reason to kill you. He’ll let you live.”

“I don’t want-,”

“I know! I know, just…” Gabriel strides forward and thrust the vial at Cas. “Hang onto it, okay? If there’s an emergency then at least you’ll have it. Please?”

Cas hesitates, scowl heavy on his face, but after a glance toward Dean, he accepts it and shoves it in his pocket without looking at it.

“Thank you,” Gabriel breathes.

“I won’t use it.”

“All I ask is that you keep it with you so long as Lucifer is a threat.”

“How long have you had that?” Sam asks, staring at the back of the couch like if he tries hard enough he’ll develop x-ray vision get a better look at actual angel Grace.

“Right after I found mine I hunted it down. Mostly to make sure no one else took it.”

Cas grunts, irritated and nods at the can of beans sitting neglected and forgotten in Dean’s hand. “Are you finished with those?”

With a shrug, Dean holds out the can. To be honest, he’s goddamn sick of the things. Cas’s fingers brush his and then the can drops to the floor.

Cas is gone.

He’s gone.

Dean jumps to his feet, heart pounding, but it takes a moment for his brain to catch up and relay what just happened.  _ Lucifer _ . He caught the barest glimpse of fucking Lucifer before he grabbed Cas and they both vanished.

“Cas!” He knows it’s hopeless, but he still spins on his heel to take in the room, slipping in spilled beans, like Lucifer might have simply popped Cas into a different corner. He didn’t. Cas is gone and so is Gabriel. Sam stares at him, wide-eyed.

“What just happened?”

“Fucking angels,” Dean snarls and pulls out his gun. Fat load of good it’ll do him now, but the familiar weight of it in his palm makes him feel a bit better. Only a bit. Sam takes out his gun as well and looks to Dean for direction like there’s anything at all they can fucking do.

“Son of a  _ bitch _ .”


	7. Chapter 7

Spraying pine needles and dirt, Castiel tumbles heels over head then skids painfully on his stomach until he slams into a tree. He cries out as something snaps-he doesn’t think it’s a stick. Painfully, he rolls onto his back, groaning as he tries to search his surroundings. Something grabbed him. Someth- _Someone_. Lucifer.

Lucifer flies at Gabriel (where did he come from?), slashing at him with a short silver sword. Gabriel blocks it darts to the side, careful to keep himself between Lucifer and Castiel where he lays in the dirt with at least one broken rib. Breathing hurts, but he doesn’t feel lightheaded. He tries to roll onto his knees to get up, but pain stabs through his middle and he lays back down, breathing heavily. Blood runs down the side of his neck, but he isn’t sure where it’s coming from. He’s covered in scrapes from when he assumes was Gabriel knocking him and Lucifer out of the air.

He looks around but all he sees are trees and steep hills. He has no idea how far Lucifer managed to take him before Gabriel caught up. Considering Gabriel took them to New York in a blink, they could be anywhere.

“Do it, Cas!” Gabriel yells as he dodges another series of attacks, forcing him further away from Castiel.

Do what? Castiel doesn’t understand and his mind is a fog. Did they have a plan for this? He attempts to sit up but is once again thwarted by a flare of white-hot pain arcing through him. He lays back down to catch his breath. He’s going to die here. Gabriel isn’t even fighting back. He can’t keep fending off Lucifer forever. He’s going to slip. Lucifer is going to kill them both.

“Come on, Cas!”

Something burns hot against Castiel’s thigh. He thinks it’s another wound at first, but then he notices it’s faintly pulsating, almost like it’s trying to get his attention. His Grace, he remembers and suddenly he feels sick. That’s what Gabriel’s waiting for. He doesn’t want to hurt Lucifer and he’s not expecting to have to hold him off forever; only long enough for Cas to accept his Grace and become an angel.

He can’t do it. He chose to become human and humans die. Angel-him had to know that. He accepted that reality and chose to fall anyway-to live and die as a human. Of course, when he fell he probably didn’t expect the end to be like this, but he still chose mere decades of human life over _eternity_ as an angel. That has to mean something.

“Cas, please!”

Lucifer slams Gabriel into a tree so hard the entire thing topples, sending splinters flying and shaking the earth beneath Cas’s back, stopping him short.

If he doesn’t accept his Grace, Lucifer will kill Gabriel. On the off chance Gabriel lives through this and Cas dies, Gabriel will be alone; Cas will never get to know Claire as an adult; he’ll never get to explore his feelings toward Dean; his cat will get sent back to the shelter. How many days will Mrs. Ferguson next door continue to take care of him if Cas never comes home?

It wrenches his heart to think of all the endings coming to things that have only just begun, but the fact remains, this was his choice. Dying is part of being human and he needs to accept that.

Gabriel cries out as Lucifer finally lands a hit to his unprotected left arm and the bright white glow of Grace stings Castiel’s corneas.

He closes his eyes. Acceptance is one thing, but that doesn’t mean he wants to see it coming.

“ _Dammit Cas, listen to me!_ ”

“CAS!”

Castiel’s eyes fly open at the sound of Dean’s voice. How…?

It takes him a moment to focus, but then he sees Dean sprinting down a sharp slope on the side of Gabriel and Lucifer, dodging trees, sticks, and thickets with Sam trailing behind. Relief swoops through him, quickly followed by dread. Lucifer must not have gotten him very far from the cabin before Gabriel knocked them out of the air, but now Dean’s life is in danger again and it will be Castiel’s fault if he dies.

Dean hurdles the fallen tree and skids to a stop, still several yards away from Castiel. Planting his feet, he raises his gun and fires a quick flurry of shots. One catches Lucifer in the shoulder and he turns with a snarl, stretching out one hand and flinging Dean back until he slams into a tree, pinned.

Dean chokes and gasps against the invisible force holding him several feet off the ground, but he’s not taking in enough air.

“No,” Cas gasps.

“ _You_ are starting to get on my-,”

Gunshots cut him off, Sam this time, and with only a look, Lucifer pins him to a tree as well.

“Luc, you don’t have to do this,” Gabriel says cautiously. “I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Hold the phone.” Lucifer doesn’t take his eyes off Sam and his lips slowly curl into a smile. Suddenly, Sam flies across the forest toward Lucifer before jarring to a stop, not even a foot away, where he gets a good close up look at the devil’s rotting flesh and delighted smile. “Well, he- _llo_. I’ve been looking for you. Someone hid you very well.” He shoots a pointed look over his shoulder at Gabriel who’s beginning to look desperate.

“Luci, please-,”

“What do you mean?” Sam demands. “What would you want me for?”

Lucifer grins. “You’re my true vessel, Sammy. It is okay if I call you Sammy, right? Whoops!”

He flings his hand toward Dean who had been creeping towards Cas while Lucifer was distracted enough to relax his hold and throws him back against another tree.

“What’s the relation here?” Lucifer asks conversationally as Dean begins to choke and sputter once more. “Friends, partners, _partners_?” He leers.

“Brothers,” Sam says, near panicked. “He’s my brother. Please-,”

Lucifer laughs. “The son of the human who freed me from my cage is my true vessel. How adorably kismet. Sammy, remind me to send Fate a fruit basket or something. This kind of attention to detail deserves some recognition. Oh! And say goodbye to your brother. I’d make it quick, but he’s gotten in my way twice now and I can’t abide that. Tell mommy hi from me, Dean-o! I’ll take _very_ good care of her remaining son.”

Dean’s face is red, the veins in his neck bulging as he fails to pull in air and struggles to remain conscious.

“No,” Castiel murmurs.

“Stop!” Sam shouts, writhing midair. “Please! I’ll do anything!”

“Sorry, Sammy. I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

Gabriel rushes at Lucifer’s back, blade raised, but with a flick of his free hand, Lucifer sends Gabriel flying back, crashing through trees and underbrush until he’s out of sight. “If you’re not going to _try_ , why bother?” Lucifer says conversationally.

Dean’s mouth is gaping and his hands claw at his throat as he scrapes his heels uselessly against the bark of the tree.

“No,” Castiel murmurs. Not Dean. Not because of him. He lost Claire long ago, but he can’t be the reason she loses Dean and, if Lucifer gets his way, Sam as well. Almost without noticing, he already has the vial out of his pocket. He only hesitates for the barest of moments before he pulls the stopper.

Time seems to slow as pure white Grace curls out the top of the vial and hovers in the air in front of him. It’s warm and familiar and it calls to him. He leans into it, ignoring the pain, and breathes deep. All at once, it rushes into him, racing for his core and burning away everything impure-his ribs heal, the ache in his muscles fades, his varied cuts and scrapes molds back together leaving his skin and his body whole and unblemished.

It feels like coming home. For the first time that he can remember, his mind is clear, his purpose is absolute, and his senses stretch beyond the limits of his physical body. As his Grace reaches his core, he realizes its intent not a moment too soon and tucks away his soul in the empty nook where a vessel’s soul would normally reside, saving it from being burned away to nothing.

That’s _his_.

All of this comes to be in the space between breaths. He only has a moment to adjust before his mind explodes-foreign voices filling the space between his ears-or… no. He doesn’t have ears. He is a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent with no concrete form, always in flux, never the same shape twice. Wait. No. He was born in this body. It’s his. It’s _him_ as much as his angel form is.

Then, finally, he remembers. He remembers everything.

.

**November 7th, 1983 - Heaven**

.

He thinks he would like bees, given the opportunity to meet one up close. They seem to be relatively simple creatures, driven by concrete purpose to keep the colony alive and nourished and in doing so, they keep the planet alive and nourished. He wonders what it would be like to be able to watch them up close. He would need a vessel for that of course and heaven is very strict in who is permitted to acquire a vessel and walk on earth among mankind.

Meaning, no one. No one is allowed on Earth anymore. Not after Lucifer and Michael vanished, presumably having bucked their respective roles in the would-be apocalypse and-in a complete 180 in character, or so Castiel has been told having never met either of them-fell. In fact, the gates of heaven will be closing soon and then no one will be able to leave or even watch the happenings of Earth. Humanity will be on its own.

According to Raphael, the only archangel left in Heaven and therefore the highest authority, despite the failure of their attempted apocalypse, they no longer hold the responsibility of protecting humanity. Besides, humans as a collective have known of the existence of the supernatural for over a year now, ever since Michael announced God had abandoned them centuries ago and that now is the time for the world to end. It’s been over a year since angels descended on Earth, smiting demons in broad daylight and flushing out monsters of all varieties from the deepest darkest corners of the world.

The humans should have things under control by now. Castiel wonders if closing Heaven might be for the best even. With no battle to fight and the knowledge of God’s absence fresh, his brothers and sisters have fallen into anger and despondency. He is not sure what help they could bring to humanity in such a state.

Still… a strange sensation swirls through Castiel at the thought of abandoning humanity-blues and grays and a hint of something distastefully pink. He suspects this sensation may be some type of emotion, but he’d rather not think about that. Angels aren’t supposed to feel and he’s tired of the looks Hannah gives him every time he brings up the possibility that, whether they are supposed to or not, they do.

He can’t understand the decision to close the gates to Heaven being made for any other reason than fear, or perhaps confusion or apathy. (Why would Michael and Lucifer fall? What happened to their father’s plan?) He has seen enough of humanity throughout time fall into the throes of war because of these feelings. It makes sense that Heaven, so repellant of any and all emotion, would run and hide rather than confront the problem and make a decision thus.

It doesn’t matter, he supposes. He has his orders and Heaven will be closed in a matter of days, if not, hours. Until then, he will watch the bees and when the doors are closed, he will have his memories. He will always have his memories.

A disturbance in the thin web between dimensions jars him from his musings and he flies to the source before any real consideration to do otherwise can take root. He arrives as a dark-haired man stumbles through a rift in time and space. A silver blade peeks out of the sleeve of his long tan coat. Not a man; It’s an angel in a vessel. An _angel_ from another dimension! This is most unusual.

Castiel feels a thrill of yellow course through him as he draws closer, soaking in everything he can about the other angel even as he prepares to kill him if needed. The rift stands open as the angel straightens and looks around, almost immediately noticing Castiel hovering in his concealed true form not far away. He does a double-take.

“Oh,” Castiel’s double says aloud in English-for it is him, _Castiel,_ from another world. How strange! “Hello.”

It takes a moment for Castiel to realize the other Castiel is waiting for a response. Exchanging greetings is a human custom, but he doesn’t see the harm in playing along. Perhaps in the world where this Castiel is from angels interact with humans regularly and have picked up their traits.

“Hello,” Castiel parrots back, trying English in his true form rather than the standard Enochian.

The other Castiel’s face moves and Castiel marvels at how in-tune he is with his vessel. He must have spent years acclimating to it to be able to move such minute muscles apparently without conscious thought and effort.

“I’m looking for someone. Perhaps you can help me,” Other Castiel says cautiously, this time in Enochian.

“From my world or yours?”

“Mine. He’s a human, Dean Winchester, and if he arrived in this world he would have arrived in the same fashion I did.”

“Oh.” Something in Castiel dims. “You are the only one to arrive as thus. I’m sorry I cannot be of further assistance.”

Other Castiel moves his head up and down and Castiel marvels further at his synchronization with his vessel. “I assure you, you’ve been very helpful to me.” Other Castiel moves toward the open rift and a blaze of orange shoots through Castiel.

“What has he done? This human?” Castiel asks, more to keep the angel here a few moments longer than to acquire the knowledge.

Other Castiel turns to face him once more, a strange expression clouding his vessel’s face. “Done?”

“Yes. What did the human do to warrant the wrath of Heaven across dimensions? I cannot fathom of the severity of such a crime.”

“There was no crime,” Other Castiel says harshly, taking Castiel aback. “He’s in danger and I’m going to bring him home.” Other Castiel hesitates. “Heaven is… not involved. He’s my friend.”

Castiel’s thoughts whirl. A friend? He has a friend? The closest he has to a friend in this universe is Hannah and he already knows there is only so much he can confide in her. She is a strong warrior and decent company, but… he cannot imagine going to these lengths were she to go missing across the dimensional divide. Something ugly and green rises up in him, but he beats it back. He does not like how that one feels.

“I wish you luck...” Castiel eventually says when he can think of nothing more to say that doesn’t sound ridiculous and infantile, “...in finding your friend.” (How did you come by this friend? What steps must be completed to acquire a friendship of such caliber?)

The Other Castiel says nothing for a long moment as he regards Castiel, his head tilted. Castiel recognizes the signs of needing a moment to put together one’s thoughts and allows him this. When Other Castiel has sufficiently composed himself, he asks, “What is the year?”

It takes a moment for Castiel to realize he’s asking for the human’s count of time passing. “1983,” he answers. The Other Castiel swallows and his lips pinch before his expression becomes neutral once more.

“Has it already happened?”

Castiel isn’t sure what he means. Did Michael and Lucifer fall in his universe too? Did Heaven close? He takes a shot in the dark. “Heaven remains open, but it won’t be for much longer. Time is short.”

Other Castiel blanches. “What? Heaven is closing? Why?”

Ahh, he guessed incorrectly. “Yes, Michael and Lucifer fell rather than fight and now Heaven is pulling back from humanity.” Castiel hesitates but decides to push onward. If there is anyone he can raise his doubts to, surely himself is the safest bet. “I worry that they will suffer without us. I am afraid this is not what father would have wanted. The apocalypse failed and now I…”

The ends of Other Castiel’s lips curl upwards, but his face does not look happy. “You doubt,” he says with surety.

Castiel shrinks in on himself, half-expecting a rain of Heavenly fury to smite him on the spot for such blatant blasphemy. Other Castiel glances toward the rift and then turns more fully to face Castiel.

“I felt doubt as well and it turns out I was right to feel that way. Heaven is… corrupt. Or it was in my world. It wasn’t easy, but Dean, he was there and he helped me. He taught me about fighting for freedom even against seemingly insurmountable odds. He taught me the importance of choice. You have a choice here, Castiel. You don’t have to stay in Heaven.”

“Choice,” Castiel echoes. “Angels can’t choose. We have orders.” It’s almost a foreign concept. Angels have never had choice. They’ve never had free will. Only humans have been gifted that right. Is he suggesting Castiel should fall? What does he mean that Heaven is corrupt and why doesn’t this new knowledge affect him in any way? Something cumbersome and greyish brown settles inside him. The knowledge that Heaven is corrupt isn’t new to him-only hearing it confessed aloud is.

“Yes, you can,” Other Castiel says. “I did. It was hard and I made a lot of choices I now regret, but I don’t regret choosing freedom. It’s worth it. Freedom is always worth the cost of choice.”

“I don’t understand.” Castiel is riddled with oranges and reds and pinks. He wants to fly away and relieve himself of this itch, but his need to know holds him still. This Other Castiel seems so worldly, so knowledgeable. And he has a friend. A human friend. The last time Castiel even spoke to a human was over a thousand years ago he got in trouble for that. He got… he doesn’t remember. The hole in his memory sends a strong spike of orangey-pink through him, but he tunes it out. He’s found other holes in his memory and he finds it best not to poke at them. Every time he does, he only gains new ones.

“Choice is everything. _Free will_ is everything. Without it, life loses meaning.” Other Castiel says. “There would be no art, no dreams, no joy, no _love_. Make your choice, Castiel. It won’t be easy. Dean helped me. Perhaps, given the time, the Dean here could help you.”

Castiel brightens. “There is a Dean in my world as well?”

Other Castiel’s lips curl again, this time his eyes crinkle as well and Castiel finds he likes this expression best. “I assume so. He will be young, but humans age quickly and his insight has proven invaluable to me.”

The rift flickers, drawing Castiel’s attention. “Your doorway is closing. Find your Dean. And… thank you. You have given me much to consider, Castiel.”

“Cas. You can call me Cas,” he says, bewilderingly. “Lawrence, Kansas is where you’ll find Dean. He isn’t one of the gifted so if you can’t procure a vessel you’ll need to be discreet or you’ll harm him. Good luck. I think you’ll make the right choice.” Other Castiel- _Cas_ -steps through the rift and in a flash of golden light, he and the rift vanish.

Castiel has been given much to think about. Cas didn’t say it, but he can tell the most alarming part of Heaven closing is that he will not meet (and befriend?) one human in particular-the human Cas is currently hopping between universes trying to find: Dean Winchester. The name means nothing to Castiel, but he commits it to memory. That human is important- _fundamental_ -to who Castiel has the potential to become. Cas didn’t say it, but he could see it in his desperation and the lengths he was willing to go to locate his Dean.

.

~*~

.

He is curious, he realizes after several hours of grappling with the feeling. He wants to know and understand all these things Cas seemed to know and understand. He is also afraid. How can one human hold so much power over an angel? And still… he must know.

Raphael is still gathering what is needed to seal heaven (or rather, is waiting for others to return with such things); Castiel has time, so he goes to Earth. There isn’t time to procure a vessel so he stays in his true form, cloaked and at a distance per Cas’s instructions. He smothers as much of his Grace within himself as he can stand, much the same as he does when on stealth missions to demon holds...or as he used to. He supposes there will be no more raids, no more missions, once Heaven is closed. What will they do? What will his purpose be?

Finding Dean Winchester is simple. He isn’t warded so even without Cas’s help, he would have found him without effort. But he is young. A _child_ , sleeping soundly, his round cheeks pink and freckled where they rest on his pillow. Cas has sent him after a child.

Disappointment is easier to identify than curiosity. It settles over him like water vapor after flying through clouds and seeps into his core. He isn’t sure what he expected. Something revolutionary, something different, something… something.

He’s on the verge of leaving, flying back to Heaven and settling in to wait for the gates to seal when Dean Winchester sits up without warning.

Castiel pauses as the little boy swings his legs out of bed and pads across the room to a barred bed-a crib, he remembers its name-where an even smaller child lays, its mouth open and eyes scrunched shut. Castiel releases hold on his Grace enough that he may hear and suddenly the wailing of the tiny one carries through the night air along with Dean’s sleepy voice.

“Shh, it’s okay, Sammy. I’m here.”

Castiel frowns. The smaller one is much too young to understand the words, and yet he visibly calms as Dean moves into his line of sight and soothes him with small pudgy hands.

“I know. I miss mommy, too.”

Dean heaves himself up and clambers over the bars of the crib, careful not to step on Sammy as he settles next to him and curls his arms around the baby. Sammy draws in a shuddering breath against Dean’s chest and his eyes close sleepily. Dean’s don’t. His eyes stay open and fill with tears as he rubs the baby’s back, swiftly sending him back to sleep.

Curiosity takes hold of Castiel once again and without a second thought, he delves into Dean’s.

He jumps back out almost immediately, overwhelmed by the deluge of emotions rolling about in the boy’s mid. Castiel isn’t nearly experienced enough to identify them. There is pain. That he understands without needing to be told. But also warmth. It’s everywhere, deep sunk into every nook and fissure of Dean’s being. A warmth that demands to be felt, to protect and shield anyone who can get close enough, not physically, but emotionally. Anyone who Dean holds dear.

Castiel is awestruck, first by the depth of emotion tearing through this young boy, and second, to think that there is a universe out there where that warmth, that love-for that’s all it could be-might be directed at _him_.

He leaves before he can be noticed, before he disturbs the boys before him.

_Dean Winchester._

He commits the name to memory with more determination than before. He is important.

Castiel remembers Cas as he flies, taking his time in getting back to Heaven while he ponders this new information. He was desperate to find his Dean. When he spoke of him, everything about him became softer and Castiel is reminded of the warm feeling that was so abundant in Dean’s soul.

Cas felt love. It _was_ love, Castiel is almost sure of it.

Could he have that too? Could he feel love and be loved in return? It doesn’t have to be Dean Winchester, he thinks, although the thought fills him with doubt. Cas was so sure…

If he was human he could produce his own love. He could give it to whomever he wished, even Dean, or perhaps someone else. Perhaps many. And he could receive love in return. It doesn’t have to be Dean. There are seven billion humans and Castiel is not enough of a fool to believe that if he fell he would meet Dean Winchester. Odds are too low and without his memories, there is no guarantee they would ever cross paths.

He has a choice to make and not much time to make it. If he stays in Heaven, what will his purpose be? He will no longer be a warrior but a relic of times long past. What would the point be? If he falls… he doesn’t know what would happen. It’s an unknown. Unwritten. Undetermined. With the failed apocalypse behind them, they are in uncharted territory. The world could end in a matter of days and they would not see it coming. Heaven is running off script.

But would it be worth it? If he were to be born again as a human he would have a soul. He would be free to love and be loved, but also to suffer and one day to die. There is no guarantee he would live a full life or even a happy one. If he stays in Heaven he is guaranteed continued existence, but nothing else.

A long empty existence or a shot at living.

It would be selfish to choose to take his chances as a human rather than stand by his brother and sisters, but then again, humans are selfish and he feels he will fit right in.

He flies to Heaven. He may not have as close a friendship as Cas and Dean, but Hannah has his respect and she deserves to know what has become of him… although perhaps not why. Lies and selfishness, he would fit in with the humans already.

Hannah is waiting for him when he arrives and for a moment he hesitates. He doesn’t want to lie, but he doesn’t want his last moments with the closest thing he has to a friend be tainted by her disdain. Also, maybe he would like it if she were to remember him fondly and not as a traitor.

Unfortunately, he has not prepared his lie.

“You went to Earth,” Hannah says, tone neutral but Castiel can feel the accusation in the words.

He thinks quickly.

“I was looking for Gabriel.”

Hannah startles. “Gabriel? Why? He’s been missing for as long as Father.”

“I…” Why _would_ he search for Gabriel? “He should know that we’re closing Heaven. He… Maybe he would have further knowledge to share with Raphael. A reason to leave the gates open.”

Hannah says nothing for a long moment, her form shifting more rapidly than normal as she thinks. “You think we shouldn’t close Heaven.”

“I didn’t say that. I only think with Michael… gone, it’s important that we hold on to who we can.”

“It’s too late. Raphael has the ingredients. The gates are going to close.”

“I’m going to keep looking.”

Hannah’s form swells. “You’ll be locked out! Without access to Heaven, your Grace will fade and you’ll die.”

It’s the opening Castiel has been waiting for.

“Then I’ll fall.”

Hannah goes still. “What?”

“I’m going to fall, Hannah. I wanted you to know. This is… I’m saying goodbye.” He cringes. Goodbye is such a human concept and of course Hannah doesn’t understand.

“Castiel, think about what you’re saying. This is borderline blasphem-,”

“What will become of me if I stay? What is our purpose in Heaven if not to serve humanity? What will we _do_?”

Hannah says nothing and Castiel feels guilt. He didn’t want to argue. He didn’t want to upset her. He only wanted her to know.

“Goodbye, Hannah.”

Hannah turns her back. “I hope you don’t regret this, Castiel.”

He hopes for the same. He flies, heading towards Dean. Perhaps if they are on the same continent, within the same country, he will stand a chance. He holds the name Dean WWinchester in is mind, though he knows it’s no use-fallen angels don’t retain their memories-and he rips his Grace out.

.

**Present Day**

.

Castiel’s eyes open with a snap and he’s on his feet before he can think to command then to stand.

“ _You will not hurt Dean_.”

He flies to Lucifer, manifesting his blade as he appears in front of him and stabs him through the heart. Behind him, Sam drops to the ground and he hears Dean suck in a breath before dissolving into a coughing fit. He’s alive.

He rips his sword out of Lucifer’s chest, leaving a gaping blood hole, but no glowing Grace. He steps back.

“Sam, get him out of here!”

Lucifer looks up at him with rage in his eyes and Castiel feels a shiver of fear. This is it. Lucifer is going to kill him. He plants his feet and raises his blade, determined to at least hold out long enough for Sam and Dean to escape. He understands now what the Other Cas was trying to tell him. Dean Winchester is worth falling for, he is worth scouring the multiverse for, and he is worth dying for; human or angel is irrelevant.

“I hope you enjoy pain,” Lucifer says, voice calm as the wound on his chest closes and vanishes from sight, leaving his shirt torn and bloodied, but his skin unblemished. Castiel swallows, but flairs his wings wide to cover Dean and Sam despite residing in a separate plane.

“ _Don’t!_ ” Gabriel warns, no longer begging.

Lucifer turns to face, eyebrows raised. Gabriel is pale and there’s a slight tremble in his hands as he holds his sword aloft in front of him… No. Not his sword.

Castiel’s eyes go wide.

“The Archangel blade,” Lucifer says like he’s commenting on the weather. He fixes the lapel of his suit and when his hand falls away, all evidence of Castiel’s attack are gone and his suit is pristine once more. “I wondered if you still had that old thing. Seems a shame it’s never been used.”

“Dad gave it to me because he knew I was the only one he could trust not to.”

“Mmm,” Lucifer agrees. “And you never will.”

He flies to Gabriel, vanishing out of sight and reappearing at Gabriel’s back in less than a second. Castiel darts after him and narrowly avoids catching Lucifer’s blade to his gut as he gets too close and Lucifer diverts to attack him. Gabriel rushes him with a yell, slashing and blocking with the Archangel blade as Lucifer engages, fighting full-throttle for control of the blade

Their blades clash and Castiel is sent tumbling backward in the wave of power that explodes from the contact. He is woefully outclassed.

A flurry of gunshots ring out, sparking irritation in Castiel. Of course, they didn’t run. Lucifer is peppered with bullets that don’t harm him but distract him enough to give Gabriel a momentary advantage. He slices Lucifer across the chest and Lucifer stumbles back, blood and Grace seeping from the cut in equal measure. It’s only a superficial wound, but Gabriel looks sick to his stomach.

 _He can’t do it_ , Castiel realizes at the same time Lucifer does. He reaches inside himself for strength and in a burst of speed that surprises even him carries him to Gabriel’s side, but not fast enough. Lucifer arrives at the same time and buries his blade to the hilt in Gabriel’s stomach. There’s nothing Castiel can do but grab the Archangel blade from Gabriel’s slack fingers and dart back out of range, now with a blade in each hand.

Gabriel drops to his knees, Grace seeping around Lucifer’s blade until he rips it out. Castiel’s chest aches despite having no wounds as he watches his brother slump to the ground, desperately trying to stem the flow of Grace. It’s no use.

It explodes out of him, whiting out the forest. When the light fades he lies still on the leaf-strewn floor with large ash wings stretching out to either side of his lifeless body. Castiel swallows his grief and tightens his grip on his swords as Lucifer turns to him.

“One down, two to go. Then my vessel and I are home free. You really think you can kill me, little Castiel?” Lucifer asks, his amusement harsh and fabricated.

“I won’t let you hurt them.”

“It’s cute that you think you have a choice.”

Something shifts and settles into place deep within Castiel and his fear fades, replaced with absolution. “There is always a choice.”

He brings up his blade just in time to block a strike at his throat. Lucifer is relentless, pushing forward, slashing and stabbing so quickly and with such force, Castiel barely manages to block them and is forced back again and again. Whatever spurred on that burst of speed before is not enough now. He chances a strike and it glances feebly off Lucifer’s blade.

“Cas, look out!”

Castiel pivots, but cries out as blood and Grace spurt out from the cut on his side. The duplicate Lucifer behind him grins, blood dripping from his blade-or is the duplicate the one in front of him?

Castiel dodges to the side so they’re both in front of him, but they’re both bearing down on him now and he feels his time running out. And still, _Dean won’t run_.

He flies, digging deep once more for that burst of energy that puts him barely ahead of Lucifer, aiming for Dean with Lucifer hot on his trail.

“Dean!” Castiel tosses Dean the Archangel blade the moment he appears in front of him and Dean flinches back at his sudden proximity but catches it. Sam stands at his side and opens his mouth to give a warning, but not a moment later Lucifer arrives behind Castiel. He spins, blade raised to parry Lucifer’s strike, but is stopped by excruciating white-hot pain in the middle of his back. He’s been stabbed and his time has run out.

He falls to his knees and manages to turn to see Lucifer standing over him. He gets the privilege of watching Lucifer’s satisfied grin jolt into shock and then dissolve into pain as Dean’s rips the Archangel blade out of his back and Lucifer falls forward.

Castiel’s vision begins to white out at this point as his own Grace begins its departure from this plane.

“ _Cas! No, no, Cas!_ ”

He feels hands on his biceps as the world tilts and suddenly there are leaves and dirt under his cheek. _Close your eyes_ , he tries to say, but he’s not sure he manages it. His only regret is that he did not get the chance to tell Dean he did well. Instead, he holds tight to the tiny shard of light tucked deep within his vessel-his _body_ -and lets the heat of his Grace overtake him.


	8. Chapter 8

“Can it, Jo!” Dean hisses. “You and your big mouth are gonna wake him up!”

Jo scowls, but dutifully lowers her voice when she says, “Isn’t that the point? He’s been out for-fucking-ever. I’m tired of hanging out in your room. My butt is killing-,”

“No one’s making you stay.”

That finally shuts her up and Dean finds a moment to breathe. He loves his family, he really does, but sometimes he needs a little peace and fucking quiet and spending two whole days with all of them crammed into his tiny apartment is about to send him over the edge.

A heavy hand falls on Dean’s shoulder, warm even through all three of Dean’s layers. Dean’s always wondered if there’s something about being a vampire that makes you run hot or if that’s a trait unique to Benny.

“He’ll be alright.” Benny gives his shoulder a squeeze before releasing him. “Have a little faith, brotha.”

Dean snorts. Faith? In what? Not fucking angels, that’s for sure. Cas seems like the only decent one in the bunch and he was only an angel for like… five minutes. Still, he thinks as he looks down at Cas’s prone form where he lies in Dean’s bed, that five minutes simultaneously saved his and Sam’s lives and nearly killed him.

“Quit wrigging your hand like an old biddy,” Gabriel complains around his constantly present lollipop.

Dean grits his teeth and ignores him, as he’s been trying to do for the past two days. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive him for that stunt he pulled, faking his death and leaving Cas on his own against fucking Lucifer. Gabriel keeps trying to explain that he didn’t abandon Cas and that he had a plan, but that’s bullshit. It’s a fucking miracle Cas survived. Gabriel had no way of knowing that Cas somehow kept his soul when he took his Grace. Apparently, that’s not how it works. You get one or the other, not both and the Grace burns away the human soul and absorbs its energy.

Cas kept his and that’s the only reason he’s alive right now. Exhausted and frail and human and possibly in a coma, but alive, thanks to Gabriel. It’s the only reason Dean hasn’t tried to kick him out. If he hadn’t shown up and healed Cas, then he would have died from the stab wound regardless of whether or not he managed to hang onto his soul.

“He’s just resting,” Gabriel continues, ignoring Dean’s stony silence. “Using your own soul as a battery while you take on the devil takes a lot out of a guy.”

“It’s been two days,” Dean snaps.

Gabriel smirks. “What can I say? He must like you a lot to have used up that much juice to save your ass.”

Dean rolls his eyes and goes back to pacing the minuscule floor space between the bed and the window. That’s the other thing. Gabriel will not shut up about True Love and Destiny just because Cas refused to angel up until Dean’s ass was in the fire. It’s a load of crap.

“Give it a rest, Gabe,” Sam says without looking up from his hand of cards where him, Claire, Jo, and Charlie sit on the floor in a loose circle just outside the door to the bedroom. “Claire, you got any eights?”

“Go fish,” Claire says without inflection.

“Sam!” Charlie says, too loud now that it’s her turn. “Fork over them eights.”

Sam does so with a groan. “I knew I should have asked you instead.”

“Snooze ya lose!”

“Charlie, c’mon,” Dean exasperates.

“Oops.” She grins sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Why do I put up with any of you?” Dean asks the ceiling.

“We’re irresistibly lovable,” Claire deadpans.

“Maybe you should take a seat, Romeo,” Jo says. “All you pacing is giving me a headache.”

Dean forces his feet to a standstill. He’d hardly noticed he was moving.

“I don’t pace,” he lies. “You should check him again,” he tells Gabriel.

Gabriel sighs, put-upon and world-weary as he slides off the window seat. He knows by now it’s not worth it to argue when Dean’s “Mother-henning” as Claire puts it.

“He’s fine, but yes, your majesty, I will check.  _ Again _ . Sammy, how’s that angel labor law coming along? I’m feeling very manipulated and overworked.”

That’s  _ another-nother _ thing. He doesn’t fucking like whatever is going on between Sam and Gabriel and apparently has been going on for years. He doesn’t know what it is and he doesn’t want to know, but whatever it is, he doesn’t like it.

“It’s still a bill. It goes before Congress in a couple weeks.”

Gabriel pauses, hand hovering inches above Cas’s forehead. Dean grits his teeth.

“Wait, seriously?”

“No. You’re fine.”

Gabriel pouts. “Tease.” He places his hand against Cas’s forehead like he’s checking for a fever. Cas flinches.

Heart in his throat, Dean steps forward, but then Cas surges up and lunges at Gabriel, swinging his fists wildly. Gabriel barely manages to dodge a blow to the chin before Cas overbalances and nearly topples out of the bed. If Gabriel hadn’t been there to catch him, he would have.

“Woah, cool it, Cassanova. Deano’s over  _ there _ .”

Cas struggles, staring around the room without tracking, panic and terror stark on his face. Dean shoves past Gabriel just as it looks like Cas is about to take another go at his face.

“Cas, hey.” He gets a hand on his forearm, capturing his attention. “You’re okay. You’re safe.” Cas’s blue eyes are hazy with fear and confusion, but they focus on Dean.

“Dean. Where’s-,”

“Lucifer?”

Cas flinches, but his eyelids are already starting to droop. He probably won’t even remember this.

“Dead,” Dean answers the unasked question. He’ll answer it as many times as Cas needs him to. “You’re safe now. You can…” He licks his lips. “You can rest here.”

Cas lays back on the pillows and blinks hard, struggling to stay awake.

“You killed him,” he says, thickly.

Dean pulls in a breath. “Yeah. I thought he got you, man,” he confesses on the following exhale.

Cas’s hand twitches on his chest. “Me too,” he mumbles. His eyes flutter shut and stay shut and his chest rises and falls reassuringly. Dean thinks he’s asleep until he hums like he just remembered something and says, “Your soul is still beautiful.”

What the fuck? “Okay. I mean, thanks. I guess.” He shakes his head. “Go to sleep, man. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Cas hums again, more distant this time. “Wake me if I start to dream.”

“Okay,” he says, but Cas is already asleep.

Dean stands there for a moment, windswept and bewildered, but the anxious twist in his chest has loosened. He adjusts the blankets so Cas is properly covered again and resists the temptation to drop into the wooden chair beside the bed (borrowed from his kitchen) and let his head drop face first onto the mattress. It’s a strong one, but he can feel the stares of basically his entire family on his back.

He scrubs his hands down his face.

“Dean-,”

“You know what?” Dean says, too loud. His hands fall to his sides. “I’m fucking starving.” He turns around, hoping his expression is neutral, and speaks over the heads of his uncharacteristically silent siblings, unable to look them in the eyes. “Who’s picking up dinner tonight?”

“You didn’t tell us  _ you _ killed-,”

“I’m so hungry I could eat an entire cow,” Dean proclaims.

“I’ll go... get food,” Sam offers disjointedly into the resulting silence. He sets down his cards.

“I’ll go with,” Charlie offers.

Claire rolls her eyes. “I’ll get the dishes washed then, I guess.”

“Jo, you should come with us to get food. We’ll need the extra hands.”

Jo sighs and collects all the cards, but doesn’t argue for once in her life.

“Gabe, you coming?” Sam asks. Gabriel snorts and sticks his hands in his pockets.

“I’ll pop back in and check on you kids later.” He vanishes with the sound of wings before anyone can reply.

“Right,” Sam grumbles. “Benny?”

“Naw,” Benny says, heaving himself up off the floor where he’d been reclined against the dresser. “But I’ll step out and help Claire with the clean so Dean can have some privacy with his… whatever you two are.”

Dean flushes bright red, but everyone laughs and the tension is broken as they squeeze out of the bedroom in a mass. Benny hangs back and slaps Dean into a rough but brief one-armed hug.

“It’s been a crazy week, but we’re all here for ya, brotha. Come on out when you’re ready for us.”

Dean clears his throat. “Yeah.” It still comes out rough.

Benny smirks playfully. “Make sure you do a good job chasin’ away them bad dreams. Wouldn’t want nothin’ upsettin’ your boy.”

“Shut up.” Dean shoves at him, but he finds himself smiling for the first time in days.

Benny shuts the door behind him and finally, finally, Dean drops into the wooden chair beside the bed and face plants into the sheets.

.

~*~

.

When Dean wakes up, it’s dark and his back is killing him from sleeping doubled over with his ass on the chair and his head cradled in his arms on the bed. Groaning, he sits up and something heavy and warm falls away from his head. He stares at the relaxed hand that falls from his hair to the bed, uncomprehending, until the hand curls into a loose fist and pulls away. He tracks it as it lifts to Cas’s face where he sleepily rubs his eyes.

“Hey,” Dean says, surprised to see him awake, his voice rough with sleep.

Cas startles, but before he can get too freaked, Dean puts his hand on his shoulder and says, “You’re safe, Cas. Relax buddy.”

Cas’s wide, panicked eyes lock onto Dean and then he does as he’s told, his body slumping back into the pillow. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and takes a steadying breath.

“Is this real?” Cas asks, voice small. It breaks Dean’s heart.

He squeezes Cas’s shoulder. “Yeah, man. This is real.”

Cas exhales slowly and settles his hands on his chest before he turns his head to look at Dean. Brilliant blue eyes search his face for a prolonged moment before he asks, “What happened?”

Dean grimaces and leans back into his chair, letting his hand slide across Cas’s cotton shirt until he can’t reach him anymore. He crosses his arms over his chest. Where does he even start?

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Cas pulls a face and looks up at the ceiling. “Lucifer stabbed me. Then you stabbed him and I… I should be dead.”

“You’re not,” Dean says with feeling. Cas turns his head to stare him. “You’re not. You… I dunno. Somehow you kept your soul when you angeled up, which is not normal I guess, and then when Lucifer stabbed you it only killed your Grace but you still had your soul? So you’re not dead, you’re just… human.”

Cas turns his stare to the end of the bed and Dean watches through the blankets as he wiggles his toes. He turns back to Dean. “How am I not paralyzed? That stab wound should have… I feel fine. Exhausted, but otherwise unhurt. How-,”

“Gabriel healed you,” Dean says and Cas’s eyes go wide. “Yeah, he’s not dead either. The coward faked his death.”

Cas’s mouth opens and closes like a fish. “What? Why?”

“I dunno, because he’s a selfish dick? He was holding back the whole time and then when it got too hard he bailed and left you up against the fucking devil by yourself.”

Cas’s eyes go pensive, but he hums a little to let Dean know he heard him. Dean wants to rant and rave about what a shithead Gabriel is, but to be honest he too fucking tired to get into it right now. And hungry. Whatever happened with dinner? Surely everyone must be back by now and the food is probably gone by now too. Dean looks towards the door and does a double take when he sees the heaping plate of food sitting on the dresser.

“Hungry?” Dean asks as he levers himself up off the hard chair. Cas’s stomach answers with a growl and Dean laughs until he remembers that Gabriel’s been keeping Cas’s body nourished and healthy, but Cas hasn’t actually eaten since that half a can of beans two days ago. Or has it been three now? He’s got no fucking clue what time it is.

He returns with the plate and frowns distastefully at the chair. “Budge over,” he says to Cas instead. Cas sits up gingerly and scoots over to the far side of the queen-sized bed and Dean settles in beside him, back against the wall and legs sticking out in front of him, crossed at the ankle.

Dean pokes experimentally at the mashed potatoes and gravy and frowns. They’re cold.

“D’you want cold mashed potatoes, cold mac ‘n’ cheese, cold corn, cold chicken, or a cold biscuit to start?”

Cas’s lips quirk into tired, wry smile. “Anything except cold beans sounds acceptable.”

The comment surprises a laugh out of Dean and he picks up a biscuit. “See how that settles in your stomach and then we’ll give the other stuff a go.”

Cas accepts the biscuit and nibbles on it thoughtlessly while Dean begins shoveling mac ‘n’ cheese in his mouth by the forkful. He eats a little of everything, making sure there’s at least half left for Cas. Cas finishes his biscuit and reaches for a piece of chicken.

“If it was Sam, would you be able to kill him?” Cas asks conversationally.

Dean chokes on his mashed potatoes. “I- what?”

“If Sam started killing people,” Cas explains patiently, “would you be able to kill him in order to stop him?”

“Sam wouldn’t do that,” Dean snaps.

Cas takes a bite of his chicken. “I don’t think I would be able to kill Claire,” he muses. “If I did, I don’t think I would be able to live with myself after. No matter how many lives I saved.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Gabriel and Lucifer,” he says like it’s obvious. “Gabriel couldn’t kill Lucifer any more than you could kill one of your siblings.”

“But that’s different. We’re talking literal Satan here.”

“It’s not.” Cas turns to look Dean in the face. “Before Lucifer rebelled, he and Gabriel were very close. Gabriel emulated him in every way he could. He learned all of his tricks and pranks from him.”

Dean can’t imagine a time when Lucifer was anything other than the cold-blooded killer that almost asphyxiated him against a tree, tried to kidnap Sam, and stabbed Cas in the back.

“He’s the devil,” he says weakly.

Cas shakes his head and his eyes go distant. “Not back then, he wasn’t. He was the Morningstar, the brightest and more beautiful of all of us and we all wanted to bask in his light. Gabe was his favorite. His prodigy, he called him.” 

Cas takes another bite of his chicken.

“Then he rebelled,” he continues once he chews and swallows. “He thought Gabe would side with him, Gabriel couldn’t bear to turn his back on all of us to fight. Kill. He loved us all too much to do that. He helped Michael and Raphael cage Lucifer but he was never the same after that. He became hard and cynical, rather than carefree and playful.

“I didn’t know at the time, but dad left after Lucifer was put in the cage.”

“Da- Wait, God? You’re talking about God,” Dean interrupts, his mouth full of biscuit and corn.

“Yes,” Cas confirms. “I remember there was a lot of fighting, but I assumed it was because of Lucifer’s betrayal. I never expected…” He polishes off his chicken and sucks his fingers clean. Dean tries not to watch and passes over the plate when he’s ready for it.

“Gabe left soon after and he’s been living amongst humanity ever since,” Cas says as he stirs together the remaining corn and mashed potatoes. “I don’t think he’s ever gotten over what happened and asking him to kill Lucifer was too much.” He loads up a forkful of his corn and potato mixture and lets it hover as he turns to look Dean in the eye.

“I’m not saying he’s perfect or blameless. I only wish for you to know the history before you decide to hold a grudge. He holds no ill-will against me, I assure you.”

Dean pulls a face and plucks at the blanket under his butt. “I don’t like how…” he wafts his hand as he tries to conjure up the right word, “chummy he is with Sammy.”

Cas’s lips twitch and Dean narrows his eyes. “What do you know that I don’t?”

Cas stuffs the entire forkful into his mouth and shrugs without looking at Dean. “Nothing,” he says through the food, utterly unconvincing.

“Uh huh. I’ll let you off the hook for now since you’ve been an unconscious log for two days, but later I’m pumping you for information.”

Cas blinks at him in shock. “Two days?”

Dean sobers. “Yeah, apparently using your soul as a battery to power angel mojo takes a lot out of a guy.”

“Oh,” Cas slumps a little. “I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing. I only knew I needed to be faster, stronger.”

“Yeah well, you saved mine and Sam’s bacon so I ain’t complaining. We really owe you one, Cas.”

“No.” Cas looks up at Dean, his gaze lingering and searching in a way Dean doesn’t understand. “You don’t.”

Dean stares back, wrong-footed by Cas’s earnest declaration. He clears his throat and drops his gaze down to the plate in Cas’s lap.

“You wanna, uh, finish that while I tell you the rest?”

Cas frowns. “There’s more? Lucifer… he’s dead.” Fear suddenly wells up in Cas’s eyes and Dean hastens to assure him.

“Yeah, no, he’s definitely dead. As a doornail. There were the umm, the ash wings and me and Sammy burned his body and everything.” Dean doesn’t mention his clothes, now shoved to the very bottom of the trash, completely covered in ash from not only Lucifer’s wings but Cas’s too. He pushes away the memory along with the discomforting feelings of grief and loss that come with it. Cas is right here. He didn’t die after all. They got damn lucky.

He takes a breath and reflects over the past few days since Gabriel healed Cas not a moment too soon and poofed them out of the woods. “It’s been… a long couple of days. You should eat.”

Cas rolls his eyes and stuffs a forkful of mac ‘c’ cheese in his mouth before staring at Dean expectantly. Waiting.

Dean takes a breath. “So we said Bella, or Annie or whatever you wanna call her-the chick that killed Crowley-we said her time was up and she’d be hellhound chow, right?”

Cas nods, cheeks bulging.

“Well, we were wrong. She’s not dead.”

Cas chokes.

“Yeah,” Dean says and waits for Cas to swallow and get his breath back before continuing. “Apparently, if you kill the demon that holds your contract it breaks the contract and you’re free.”

“Is that why I’m here?” Castiel asks, somewhat miserably.

“What?”

“This is another safe house, isn’t it?”

“No dude,” Dean huffs a laugh. “This is my apartment.”

“Oh.” Cas looks around the room with a new appreciation and Dean tries not to blush. It’s not great. He hasn’t done much with it other than to stack some records on the dresser. The living room is more his space.

He clears his throat. “Anyway, she turned herself in yesterday.” Was it yesterday? He really needs to figure out what time it is.

“She-what? Why would she do that?” Cas asks, looking as bewildered as Dean had felt when Victor had stopped by to check on him and give him the update.

Dean shrugs. “She confessed to everything, including making the deal to kill her parents, and is angling to get her sister out of prison. She had to break her sister’s contract first and her own so she’d live long enough to explain everything. Her sister will probably be cleared of all charges, charged with perjury and sentenced to some jail time, but she’s already more than paid that time so she’ll likely be set free as soon as Annie’s officially convicted.”

“Wow,” Cas says, food entirely forgotten. “That’s… a lot.”

Dean sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “She also… Ugh, nevermind. I don’t want to say it out loud.”

“Tell me.”

Dean pulls a face. “She told the press everything. Not just about her and her sister, but about us too.”

Cas frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I can’t leave my apartment because the press is camped outside waiting to get an exclusive with the guy that killed Satan.”

Cas stares.

“Right?” Dean says. “Don’t ask me how the fuck she knows because I don’t have a clue. Claire thinks she’s a witch or something. Oh, and they’ve painted you as some sort of damsel in distress even though you did all the hard work and I just finished the job. It’s bullshit. I tried to set the record straight but Victor won’t let me talk to them until the higher-ups have given it the go ahead and drafted up a script.”

Castiel takes on a perplexed expression and says, “I don’t care what they think, Dean. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I’m not  _ worried _ ,” Dean says, “but they should know the truth. They think I’m some kind of hero, but I’m not.  _ You _ are. We’d all be dead if it wasn’t for you.”

Cas bites back a smile. “Dean, you stood up to Lucifer. You knew there was nothing you could do to stop him, but you never backed down. You didn’t leave me on the side of the highway when you discovered what you were up against and you didn’t run even when I begged you to in the woods. I think you’re a hero.”

Heat rushes into Dean’s cheeks and he looks away. Who fucking says that? “Don’t make it weird, dude.”

Cas rolls his eyes and cleans his plate.

.

**Castiel**

.

The next days, weeks, months, pass too quickly to track. Cas tries to get a hotel room when he realizes how many people are staying with Dean, but Dean insists he stay and explains that between him, Sam, and Charlie, there are plenty of places for people to sleep. Cas is secretly relieved. He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to stay in a hotel room again. That’s where this all started.

Soon enough, they have to leave to go back to their own lives anyway. Benny has already pulled in all the favors he has to get his shifts at the fire station covered; Jo is restless and when the call comes for a hunt three days after Cas wakes up, she takes it; Claire is the only one Cas is truly sad to see go, not that he doesn’t like everyone else but they’re a bit… Well, they’re a lot.

But Claire too has a career that revolves around helping people and she can’t stay away for long. When she gets the call about a school shooting in Missouri she makes sure Cas has her number and then she’s gone. On a plane within hours. Cas’s heart swells with pride and joy every time he thinks about where life has taken her: the best trauma psychologist for teens in the country. Dad knows, they both could have used one when they were young. Actually, he could use one now.

Then it’s only him and Dean. Charlie and Sam still stop by almost daily and Gabriel pops in whenever the mood strikes, but for the most part he and Dean have the apartment to themselves. It doesn’t take long for Dean to tire of pacing the floors and decide to chance a venture out to the grocery store. He returns half an hour later in a foul mood with only a handful of items after being stalked through the store by the press and general public alike.

Cas tries not to feel too special that one of the few things he brings back Castiel’s requested body wash is one of them. While he’s not exactly homesick, there are a few comforts of home that he misses. Gabriel brought him his cat the first time he arrived after Cas woke up. The second time he came was a day later with allergy pills for Dean. He doesn’t stay long when he does drop by. Cas thinks he feels guilty and Dean’s silent scowling certainly doesn’t help, but all Cas can do is treat him normally and hope that with time their relationship will go back to how it was before. He’s already apologized for how he treated him about the whole finding his Grace thing. It’s funny, the perspective that can be wrought after a few millennia of restored memories. 

As for Cas, he figures he should probably be coming up with a plan for getting his life back on track, but he only makes it as far as calling his boss to quit his job and canceling his lease on his apartment. He lets Gabriel deal with packing his things and putting them in storage. Where to go from there… he isn’t sure. Without his job, he has no reason to stay in Virginia-Claire’s home base is Chicago, although she’s rarely not traveling, Dean is in D.C., and Gabriel in New York.

Where should he go? What is he going to do? He remembers everything now of course-at least everything his human brain is capable of retaining. That only makes everything more difficult. He remembers Dean. He remember’s Dean’s  _ soul _ . He is absolutely besotted with him in a way that doesn’t make sense after knowing him only a handful of weeks. They went through a traumatic event together, but this is more than that for Castiel.

He feels a connection with Dean that he hasn’t felt before-in either lifetime, human or angel. A significant bond. The only comparable memory he has is the way Other Cas spoke of his Dean and his cross-dimensional quest to find him and bring him home. With that in mind, his problems don’t seem so insurmountable. It will take time and patience, but (he thinks of the bright blue-white glow of Dean’s soul) it will be worth it.

The first step is asking him on a date, something he isn’t willing to do while he’s living with Dean. But days turn into weeks and still, Castiel stays. Claire says he should just bite the bullet and get it over with, but if Dean says no… Castiel doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable in his own home.

He’ll ask. He will.

He and Claire talk about more than Castiel’s sad crush on Dean. They talk about their childhood and catch each other up on their missing years. Cas doesn’t talk about Lucifer or the explosion in the parking garage and Claire doesn’t talk about all the time between the last day they saw each other and Singer Home. But it works. And it’s good.

While the media may have painted Castiel as the damsel in distress to Dean’s white knight, Dean’s full report on the events brought Castiel to the attention of Dean’s employers. According to Dean, they’d love nothing more than to turn him into their little lab rat and run tests to see how much of his angel abilities have carried over despite his lack of Grace. Now that he remembers being an angel they’re curious how much of his combat skills and strategic abilities he’s gotten back.

It’s upsetting to Dean, but Castiel quietly accepts a job with the stipulation that Dean is in charge of Castiel’s “training” once he’s back from paid leave as they wrap up Annie’s trial. When Dean finds out he quietly hangs up on Victor and turns to Cas who is across the room scooping spaghetti out of the pot.

“Really?” Dean snaps.

Castiel pauses. “Would you... prefer alfredo?”

“Cut the crap, Cas. Why didn’t you tell me you were gonna accept the job?”

Castiel tucks his chin to his chest and goes back to serving dinner. “You would have tried to talk me out of it.”

“Damn right I would have. It’s a bad idea.” Dean jerks open the silverware door and digs out two forks before slamming it shut.

“I disagree.” Cas sets the plates on the table and sits in his seat. Dean drops down beside him and slides him a fork. “I need to do something, Dean. I may not be an angel anymore, but… Maybe I could be a guardian again. We didn’t do well protecting humanity, but I’d like the chance to do better.”

Dean stares at him, a forkful of spaghetti halfway to his mouth, forgotten. Castiel ignores him and eats his food. Eventually, Dean stuffs his forkful into his mouth and for once he chews and swallows before speaking.

“Well welcome to the team then, partner.”

Castiel looks at him curiously. Either he’s making a cowboy reference like all of those old west movies he made Cas watch with him or he means-

“Victor’s retiring. Says taking on Lucifer and making it out the other side alive is as good as it’s gonna get and he may as well hang his hat on it. And something about me being in good hands, but whatever. If I’m going to be training you and I need a new partner anyway.” He shrugs and sticks another forkful of spaghetti in his mouth. “You’re it, partner.”

Castiel stares while his heart flutters in his chest. This both simplifies and complicates things. What is the government’s policy on interoffice relationships?

“Is that… acceptable to you?” He has to ask.

Dean pulls a face. “Course I am. If it can’t be Victor, you’re the next best thing, man.”

“Okay.” Cas fluffs his fork through his pasta as he gathers his courage. “Would it be acceptable to you… No, I don’t. Nevermind.”

Dean puts down his fork. “What? What’s going on?”

Cas presses his lips together, heart thundering in his chest. He makes a decision and puts down his fork and presses his palms to the cool wood of the table and looks up to meet Dean’s worried gaze.

“Would like to accompany me to dinner tomorrow night?” He holds his breath as Dean stares.

“Me?” Dean eventually asks, voice strangled. “Like… for a change of scenery or like-,”

“I’m asking you on a date, Dean. I’d like to date you.”

“Oh.” Dean picks up fork and fiddles with it rather than eating. “I- yeah. I mean, if you’re sure.”

“I am.” Castiel doesn’t hesitate. “Are you? You don’t sound… sure.”

“I… I mean I’ve thought about it obviously.” Castiel isn’t sure what’s so obvious about that but he listens raptly, sensing a ‘but.’ Dean works the words around in his mouth before he speaks them. “You’re an angel, man. Or at least you were. What would you want with me?”

One thing Cas has noticed over the past several weeks is Dean’s strange lack of self-confidence. It’s one thing he plans to fix if Dean will give him the chance, but it’s not something he can fix tonight. So he says nothing and simply watches Dean, waiting for a real answer.

Dean shifts under Cas’s steady gaze and avoids his eyes until finally he releases a gust of air and throws up his hands in a gesture of defeat.

“Okay fine. Fine! Dinner tomorrow. It’s a date.”

Cas smiles and ducks his head as he returns to his meal. He puts another bite into his mouth and glances up at Dean through his lashes and catches him looking at him with a strange soft expression. Cas smiles, cheeks round and full and Dean drops his stare, a grin of his own reluctantly curling his lips.

He clears his throat. “Did you make garlic bread again?”


End file.
